Missing
by Mushroom Hair
Summary: in Acton
1. Chapter 1

**_Sorry, this is going to be angsty and soapy and might have already been done. Please try and like it! xxxxxxxxxxxxxx_**

* * *

Syed trudged down the stairs of the underground station. His head pounded with the beat of a tension headache, the smell of massage oils wafting up from his skin making him feel nauseous and light headed. Flexing his fingers as he placed his Oyster Card on the barrier, he tried to ease the ache in the sinews of his hand. His brain frazzled with trying to remember the different names of muscle groups, the Latin terms moving stickily inside his skull like jam.

'Pectoralis sodding Major.' He hissed under his breath, a quiet smile forming as he allowed himself the delicious thought of laying his head on Christian's glorious Pectorals and falling gently asleep.

'A little snooze before dinner, and a big something else after..'

He grinned at Billy, who slouched grumpy and cold, surveying the remaining bruised apples on the stall.

"Nice evening!" He called.

Billy looked at him as if he were mad.

"If you say so mate. You on a promise?"

Syed laughed, beginning to look forward to the weekend ahead, thoughts of the day's exam, in which he was convinced he had done appallingly, starting to recede.

"Always Bill, you know Christian."

Billy shuddered slightly and looked embarrassed, and Syed surprised himself with the realisation that, this sort of reaction to his sexuality, was beginning to bother him slightly less than before.

* * *

"Hey babe!"

Christian twitched the Hoover's cable away from the chair leg and manoeuvred it under the table.

Taking off his jacket, Syed eyed him suspiciously.

"Cleaning again? What's this in aid of?" He shouted.

"Sorry petal, can't hear you. What?"

Syed bustled past him and bent to switch the power off at the socket. The machine slowly puttered to silence.

"Turn it off then, dumb head. I gave this place a good going over yesterday. Are you trying to say I didn't do it properly?"

Christian frowned at him in confusion.

"Course not, tetchy. You do everything beautifully, and I mean everything…"

He hooked the cord over the neck of the Hoover and opened his arms to receive a hug.

Syed, too tired to register the gesture, wearily walked around him and slumped on the sofa.

"I suppose I'd better start getting ready. Zahida expects us at seven…" He yawned and shut his eyes, wanting to sink against the soft cushions and allow himself to doze for a year.

Christian bit his lower lip. Hovering anxiously in front of Syed he said;

"Ah…"

Syed sat up suddenly and fixed him with a steely glare.

"Ah what?"

"She rang and left a message, Barry's got man flu and she's got to tend to him…She wondered if we could rearrange it for next week."

Syed's face lit up with relief.

"Really? Oh thank goodness, I'm knackered. Yay! We can spend the evening in. Shall we get a video? Not that sort, dirty. And a take away, can't be arsed to cook…"

He noticed that Christian was shifting nervously from one foot to the other.

"What's up with you? Do you need the toilet?"

"It's just I.."

"It's just you what?"

"Well, they called and…"

Syed's eyebrows lowered dangerously.

"Christian.. What have you done?"

Christian picked up a duster from the coffee table and flicked it playfully at him, practising what he hoped was his most winning smile.

"I invited Sam and Steve round for drinks. There's a new bar opening in Stratford, they've got us tickets. I said we'd feed them and then go on there later. Won't it be fun?.."

The last word hung in the air between them, an unanswered question in big flaming letters.

After a pause, when the atmosphere in the flat had frozen to a sub zero temperature, Syed quietly groaned.

"You've fucking done it again Christian."

"Done what?"

"Arranged stuff without asking me. Maybe I don't feel like having those two round here shrieking like over grown schoolboys and rifling through your porn collection? Maybe, after the day I've had I don't want to spend the night surrounded by pissed people, nodding and smiling because I can't hear a word anyone's saying over the crap music, and even if I could, it would all be drunken gibberish anyway. Why the fuck didn't you ring me and ask me?"

Christian took a step backwards and held up his hands.

"Woah! Where's this coming from? I couldn't ring you because you have your phone switched off, I thought you liked them, I thought they were OUR friends, and, most importantly, I did ask you, I sent you a text."

Syed fumbled around in the back pocket of his jeans and held up his mobile.

"Did you Christian? Are you sure? Or did you just think 'Oh Syed won't mind, he's happy to go along with anything I decide to do.."

Christian snatched the phone from him and scrolled through the messages.

Triumphantly waving it in his face, declaring;

"HERE! Here's a message I sent you.." He twisted it round to read it and muttered;

"Oh, maybe not that one.."

"No Christian. That one was from this morning, and 'I'm going to fuck you until you scream' and eighteen kisses doesn't constitute any sort of inclusion in the decision making processes of our social life. You won't fucking learn.."

Christian mentally clocked through the day, he was convinced that the message had been sent as soon as the plans had changed, and it had been a suggestion. He had assumed Syed's lack of response had been an affirmation that he was okay with the idea.

He gulped guiltily, then the fault began to anger him, the uncertainty about his innocence, the realisation that he had, indeed, taken things for granted again, making him defensive.

"I can't do right for doing fucking wrong with you, can I? How many times, I'm sorry. I'll ring them and tell them not to come.."

Syed glared at him and shook his head furiously.

"Don't bother. Have them round, wreck the place, get blind drunk, throw up a bit. I'm going out.."

He clambered over the back of the sofa, ignoring the pleading hand of contrition that Christian held out to him, and grabbed up his coat.

"Sy, please!"

With a parting shout of "bollocks!" Syed slammed out of the flat.


	2. Chapter 2

"Broke his promise did he?"

Syed shot Billy a glance full of venom, barely stopping himself from flicking him the finger.

"I'll take that as a yes then…Pound of Cox's, darlin'?"

Syed raced up onto the tube platform, leaving the chatter and din of the square, the clatter of market stalls being packed away and the weary clomping trudge of commuters in their city shoes, eagerly awaiting their two days of freedom, behind him.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his rage and stop his heart from pounding. He checked the departures board, wondering where on earth it could be that he intended storming off to.

He considered phoning Tamwar, to ask him if he wanted to come out for a meal, but figured he would probably be too busy in the Argy Bhaji, helping other people get theirs.

'Perhaps I should go and book myself a table..' He mused, deciding sadly that he wasn't up for the fight if either of his parents came in.

'Sick of being fucking invisible.'

He gave himself a little shake, not wanting the tears of self pity that threatened behind his eyes, to interfere with his fury.

A train was approaching round the bend, he saw the lights and the destination written in neon above the drivers head.

'Hammersmith, I'll have a little trip to Hammersmith. Buy myself dinner, go to the pictures, let Christian stew..'

He toyed with a vague memory that someone he had known in Leeds had moved there. Settling down on a seat and picking up a discarded copy of Metro, an issue that he had already read that morning on his way to his massage course, he hatched a plan to go and find them, surprise them, play at being the old Syed for an evening.

As the train rattled him farther away from Walford, he hid behind the paper, pretending to study it. He realised that he didn't want to be the old Syed, a man of misery and lies, he liked who he was now, prepared to stand up for himself, not a man to be pushed around, made to do things he didn't want to.

'Yeah.' He told himself. 'Go me.'

It dawned on him that he would actually quite like to be the new Syed, sat at home in his nice warm flat with his boyfriend, patiently putting up with their annoying friends because it made his boyfriend happy, and he liked him to be happy.

'Oh shit.'

The train pulled into the next station and the doors slid open. He looked at them indecisively. He could just get off and take the next train home, have a bit of a rant, do some shouting, turn Christian on.

The doors shut again before he had time to act on the decision, and he knew he would feel foolish, flouncing back in so quickly. And he wanted Christian to realise he loathed feeling as if he was being taken for granted, even if he wasn't.

'I'll go to Shepherds Bush, have a look round Westfields, that's open late. I'll buy him a present, some of that hideously expensive moisturiser that makes his skin so smooth…'

The thought of Christian's skin, pressed against his own, made him swallow hard and shift the newspaper down across his lap. He smiled reassuringly at the woman seated opposite to him, who had started to shift in alarm, and slid his gaze up to the tube map, forcing himself to think about Mo Harris doing an exotic dance, steeling his will to stay in the carriage until the end of the line.

* * *

Hopping from the bus outside the vast shopping centre, he was struck by a sudden pang of loneliness. It had been an age since he had been shopping on his own, the absence of Christian next to him, grabbing his hand and pulling him into department stores, his infectious glee at trying on clothes, forcing Syed to come out of the changing rooms and show him what things looked like on, the intense mortification and secret pride he experienced as he obediently twirled around, knowing that the glorious, larger than life man, showing him up in the middle of the shop, belonged to him, and only him.

Wincing at the price, he removed his debit card from the reader and declined the offer of a bag. Tucking away the cardboard carton into his inside jacket pocket, he marvelled at how something so small could cost so much. He made his way through the packed department store, zigzagging through the other shoppers in an attempt to find the way out. After diligently following the signs and finding himself in the lingerie section, he was aware of a faint niggling sense of claustrophobia, a fear that he may be trapped forever amidst a sea of nylon brassieres and thongs, never to find his way home again.

'Home..' He hoped Christian was still there, hadn't got the hump with him and gone out regardless, was waiting patiently for his return.

'Fat chance..'

He finally emerged into a side street at the back of the Mall and inhaled the night air with relief. Now completely disoriented as to which direction the tube station was, or where he might catch a bus, he trusted his senses and set off down a dark footpath, in the hope it might lead back out onto Shepherd's Bush Green.

He glanced with distaste at the litter strewn across the path; a half eaten Kebab, empty beer cans and a discarded bottle of Vodka, it's remaining contents seeping sluggishly across the ground.

Checking his watch, he was horrified to find it was nearly 10 o'clock and he had been mooching around for almost five hours. He took out his mobile phone and turned it on, hoping a stream of text messages would flash up on the screen. One did, and he clicked it eagerly. It read;

_"Hey beautiful. Za cancelled, Baz big girl's blouse. Have rung S & S but will tell to knob off if you don't want to. Love love love you xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_"

'I've been a prat…'

He hastily pressed Christian's number, preparing to eat humble pie, hardly registering the sound of running feet behind him.

A fist punched savagely into his back and, with a sickening crack, his head hit the concrete.


	3. Chapter 3

"Mwah! Mwah! Darling you look awesome, love the shirt.."

Sam trailed his finger lasciviously down the front of Christian's chest.

".. Green, brings out the colour of your eyes, and fits in all the right places.."

He fumbled at one of the buttons and Christian, playfully smacked away his hand.

"Oi, don't touch what you can't afford, Steve might get jealous."

Steve shrugged mildly and prodded Sam in the stomach, making him squeal in surprise.

"Couldn't give a shit what the little madam gets up to. He's right, though, it is nice, suits you. Where did you get it?"

Christian stroked the material.

"Sy bought it for me off the Internet."

Sam searched around the flat.

"Where is the delectable Syed? Is he naked in the kitchen? Ooh, I do hope so!"

He scuttled over to pop his head round the door.

"No he isn't, but something smells good. Has he nipped out for a mystery ingredient?"

Christian settled his features into a noncommittal mask and replied with as much cheer as he could muster.

"Young Mr. Masood isn't coming out to play this evening. It appears I'm a right shit and he's flounced off to God knows where."

Sam and Steve exchanged glances and raised their eyebrows in unison. The sight of their perfect symmetry would have made Christian laugh, if he hadn't felt quite so wretched.

"Ooh!" Said Sam excitedly, a wicked glint gleaming in his eye; "Trouble in paradise?"

"Stop stirring, you evil little monkey." Admonished Steve, patting Christian reassuringly on the arm, the gesture from hi huge hands almost knocking Christian off balance.

"Are you still up for it, matey?"

"He wants to sit at home and blub…"

Sam cut in waspishly, pouring out a large glass of white wine from the carafe on the table.

"Fuck off Sam. I've made us pasta, line our stomachs for the onslaught ahead.

"Attaboy!"

Sam held out the glass to Christian, and he downed it in one.

* * *

Sam screwed his face up in disgust at the lack of people.

"It's dead in here.."

He propped himself up on a bar stool next to Christian and threw a peanut at him.

"It's your fault, mard arse, your gloomy face is putting them off, they take one look through the window, see you, and think 'Christ it looks crap in there.'"

Christian leant heavily across the bar and stared morosely at the dazzling array of different spirits, coloured bottles sparkling like jewels under the glare of the Halogen down lighters.

"I'm just fine.." He insisted.

He had put away an entire bottle of Merlot with his dinner, swiftly followed by five shots of Sambuca and was contemplating working his way through the entire array of drinks.

"We'll do colours! Lets start with blue. Barman! Three Curacao's for me and these splendid fellows!"

Despite his stirling show of bravado, he couldn't help his gaze flickering between the entrance, and the mobile phone clutched tightly in his hand.

He willed the door to open, for a familiar figure to breeze in, hair tousled, jacket zipped, waiting to be undone, eyes bright in greeting. Or for the small inert pice of plastic pressed against his palm to vibrate into life, flash with Syed's name, a voice at the other end of the line, saying he was on his way, would be there soon.

They moved on to red drinks and the deserted room began to blur. The retro plastic banquettes, teak tables and blue vinyl floor contributed to Christian's dizziness, too many busy design features.

Sam had flitted away to see if there was anything more interesting going on in the club downstairs, but Steve remained patiently beside Christian, noticing his eyes narrow and his speech slur, enduring the onslaught of a stabbing finger as he began to rant.

"Cause I'm not a bad bloke, am I Ste? I try my best. I don't know what he wants half the time, he says one thing, but it means something else and I'm too much of an idiot to understand. I wish he came with a manual.."

"Spanish bloke from Fawlty Towers?"

Steve blinked in confusion.

"Not a Manuel, a Manual.." Christian spluttered with mirthless laughter. "..Rhymes with annual, Beano. He should have come with a Beano Annual.."

Christian slipped slightly off his stool and Steve caught him deftly and heaved him back upright.

"Calm down Christian, you'll have us kicked out, and it's filling up a bit now, it might get good.."

"No it won't. It's shit. It's shit 'cause Sy isn't here. No Syed equals shit."

Christian shook his mobile, hoping the agitation might shock it into life.

"I did bloody tell him, I sent a text.. Where's it gone Ste? Who's nicked my text?"

"Have a look in the outbox." Steve suggested calmly.

"The dirt box?"

"Outbox, Christian."

Christian bashed the keys drunkenly, swaying on his seat, until he finally found what he was looking for.

"SEE! SEE! I did. Said I'd tell you to knob off if he wanted.. No offence.."

"None taken. Give it here.."

Steve wrestled it from his grip and checked the screen.

"There's a delivery report thing on your fancy phone, it only went a couple of hours ago, must be the satellite.."

"What satellite? Round the moon? My text went via the moon, Saturn, Uranus. Up your anus!"

Steve looked round anxiously, as the last part of Christian's statement had been delivered at full volume and accompanied with a wild cackle. He'd seen his friend pissed on numerous occasions, but never, since he'd met Syed, with such manic lack of control.

"Pink drinks!" Christian banged his fist down hard, rattling the glasses, beckoning to the hostile barman, who pointedly took the glasses away and scowled at Steve.

"I think your mates had enough."

"Yep, I think you're right, in more ways than one."

Sam had reappeared, looking thoroughly bored.

"State of him, Steve. Shameful. Shall we dump him off home and go on to Soho?"

Steve nodded.

"I hope Syed's there, poor sod, otherwise one of us will have to stay with him.."

Sam's jaw dropped in exaggerated disbelief.

"Why?"

"In case he chokes on his own vomit, or does something daft. Honestly Sam, you're all heart, aren't you? He's done it loads of times for you.."

Sam appeared unmoved.

"Well I never asked him to. He's just being a melodramatic old drama queen. Syed loves the bones of him, and normally I'd say who could blame him.."

They regarded Christian with fond exasperation as he picked up the lid of a pineapple ice bucket, obviously debating whether or not to try it on as a hat.

"Not right now though.."

Steve sighed and heaved Christian up, balancing him under his arm and pulling him along behind him out onto the street. They both grabbed at him as he attempted to lie down on the pavement, stoically ignored his plaintive mantra;

"I said I'd sent it, I said I'd sent it…"

By the time they got him back to Albert Square he has started to sober up slightly. The walk from the tube had helped, and being sick in a skip.

Sam took his keys from him and opened the flat door. Steve picked him up in the immense arms that Christian had had a part in creating with mates rates personal training, and threw him onto the bed.

"Are you sure you'll be alright?"

Steve frowned in concern, placing a pint glass full of water beside Christian's head.

"I love you Ste! And I love you Sam, even though you're a git…But I love Sy most. Where is he?" He looked under the duvet, then tried to lift the edge of the mattress.

"Not hiding there.. Is he in the wardrobe?"

"Oh come on Stevie!" Sam huffed impatiently. "Leave the soppy old sot to it. I fancy a dance."

"My phone! Where's my phone? With the text on, to show him, I did send it."

Steve pulled the mobile from Christian's pocket and placed it in his hand.

"Drink your water Christian, I'm sure Syed will be here soon."

"Don't worry.." Chimed in Sam "..He's probably just run back to mother.. Oh, er maybe not.."

Steve and Sam bent to kiss him on either cheek and he flung his arms around them.

"Love you!"

"Of course you do. Night, night. He'll be back by the morning.."

They let themselves out, Steve glanced backwards, smiling at Christian's cheery drunken wave.

Alone in bed, spread eagled across the middle. Christian waited for the room to stop spinning quite so much, then, carefully and slowly, tapped out a text message to Syed;

_Cold without you. Please come home xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx._


	4. Chapter 4

"Ow.." Syed's mouth formed the word but no sound came. He dimly registered a background cacophony, someone crying, a clatter of wheels, and he trembled with an unknown panic. Blinding lights stabbed through his eyelids, he tried to open them, but pain made them heavy and immobile. Inside his dreams, he caught a glimpse of white blonde hair, a woman telling him to leave, for everyone's sake, and another, leaning close, the fragrance of familiarity and love on her breath, a smiling face, a sense of security, shattered by her hissing voice telling him she wished he would die.

He could smell alcohol and antiseptic, hear the bleeps of a machine echoing the pace of his heartbeat. And he felt a loss, he had to be somewhere, make something better.

A single tear trickled down his cheek.

Student Nurse Matt Jameson looked up from the chart he was filling in and called out to his colleague.

"Sister, I think our sleeping beauty might be coming round."

Syed heard rubber soles squeak on linoleum, felt a cool touch on his forehead.

"Can you hear me?"

'Yes..' he thought. 'But I'm scared to open my eyes…'

Sister Maddy Jermyn took the chart from Matt.

"Still out for the count. God, he reeks of booze. His B.P's still a little high…"

"He's got a massive bump on his head…"

Maddy smiled wryly at Matt's statement of the obvious.

"Why's he still on a trolley? He's been here a while hasn't he? Have you called the ward?"

Matt flushed, convinced that it must somehow be his fault that there were no beds available, and a massive R.T.A on the M4 had stretched the A and E department to it's limits.

"He's been here a couple of hours. A security guard found him lying on the ground round the back of Westfields when he turned up for work this morning, thought he was a drunk.."

Maddy sniffed.

"He certainly smells like one, but his bloods show no traces of alcohol. Got in a fight somehow? Homeless maybe."

Gently lifting Syed's hand, Matt pointed out;

"Not with these nails, plus the only thing he had on him, no wallet, no phone, was a tub of Elemis survival cream. Wish I could afford that.."

Looking him up and down, Maddy snorted with derision.

"On our salaries? Might have been mugged then, have the police been informed?"

Worried again that he might be messing up, Matt felt his palms dampen.

"I called it in, but they're more concerned with the motorway crash at the minute.."

Sensing his nervousness, Maddy recalled her own early years on the ward, the constant terror that she might accidentally kill someone. She winked at him kindly.

"You're doing fine. I can see you're quite keen on this one though, don't neglect the other patients, there's still that sprain in cubicle four to get rid of. Dr. Croker will want to check his CT scan and his bloods when she gets a chance. Put him in a gown, take those stinky clothes off him and keep him warm, he's been lying outside most of the night."

'I am cold.' Syed wanted to join in the conversation, seeing as it was about him, but he couldn't quite find the energy to open his mouth.

Maddy touched the skin of his wrist gently.

"Frozen. I'm sure someone must be missing him. Check at the front desk once you've sent the ankle in four packing, see if anyone's rung to claim him."

'I am not a lost umbrella!' The words shouted around Syed's brain, but no one heard.

* * *

Stifling a yawn, Matt rubbed the back of his neck. His shift was nearly over and it had been another long night. He looked forward longingly to the moment he shut his front door behind him and could kick off his shoes and fall into bed.

He found himself checking on Syed more than might be necessary, watching the bruises form under his eyes, willing them to open, to see the long lashes lift.

'Stop being so unprofessional Matt!" He chided himself, studying Syed's chart for the umpteenth time.

He had carefully and tenderly undressed him, pushed limp, unresponsive arms into the sleeves of a hospital gown, laid his poor bumped head against the crisp white starch of the pillow, chatting to him all the while.

"Lucky you didn't break the skin, might have had to shave off all that hair. I'm sure it would suit you though. Can't do anything with mine, too limp and greasy. You ready to wake up yet? Tell us your name?"

Syed cautiously opened one eye and blearily surveyed the man bending over him, a round pasty face and small deep set eyes.

"Sultana's in a sponge pudding.. Oops.." He realised he was being a bit unkind.

"What's that? You fancy something to eat? The doctor's on her way. You're in hospital, you had a fall."

Dr. Croker's arrival along the corridor towards them, was heralded by the efficient clicking of her fanciful court shoes. She gave Matt a tight smile, flexing her painful calf muscles, hoping that nobody would notice that under her flawless foundation she was pale with exhaustion and desperate for a cigarette.

"Mystery man come round yet? She enquired shortly.

Matt hoped he wouldn't start to spit when he talked or become unintelligible under her gimlet eye.

"He's been in and out, just asked for something to eat."

"Any name?"

"Not yet."

She took the chart from him.

"He's taken a nasty knock, but there's no swelling or bleeds. Bad bruising, evidence of concussion.."

She checked Syed's pupils perfunctorily and Will caught a glimpse of tawny gold iris.

"Let him sleep it off for a bit, see if you can find any relatives, and ship him off upstairs. Though he'll be lucky to get a bed before next year. He'd be better off at home anyway, with a couple of Neurofen and someone who loves him.."

She paused, as if properly seeing Syed for the first time.

"..Lovely looking man, I bet some poor girl's going frantic with worry."

Matt bristled at the presumption, but with a pang of regret, decided she was probably right.

"There's no wedding ring.." He realised he was allowing hope to triumph over experience.

"Probably got stolen. Try and nab a P.C if you see one…"

* * *

Yawning so widely that he almost cricked his jaw, Matt ran plump hands through his mousy hair and checked his watch.

"Nearly time for me to knock off and leave you.." He conversationally informed the prone Syed, filling in his chart with neat, round childish handwriting.

Syed stirred and frowned, making Matt jump at the sound of his small clear voice;

"I'd like to go home."

"Hello. Can you tell me your name?"

Syed peered at the friendly open face, searching through the fog his brain for an answer. The man seemed nice and kind, a little sweaty, but that couldn't be helped, and Syed wanted to oblige him with an answer, the only problem being that he didn't have a clue.

"Baz.." That rang a faint bell.

"Hiya Baz, what's your surname?"

Again Syed couldn't recall, could find nothing in the swampy sludge of confusion, until he hit upon;

"Mitchell."

"Baz Mitchell" Matt wrote it down, spelling out the letters slowly.

"And where do you live Mr. Mitchell?"

"Leeds." Syed felt a little more confident about that answer, it seemed plausible.

"Down to do some shopping?"

"They have shops in Leeds.." Syed noticed the heading on a folder under Matt's arm, it read 'Hammersmith Hospital.'

"I'm visiting.." He added.

'I must be, or why am I here?'

"That's nice! I'd like to visit Leeds one day.." Matt almost added: 'Perhaps you could show me round' allowing himself a moment of fantasy before briskly propping Syed up against the pillows and pouring him a plastic cup of water from the jug beside him.

"Sip it slowly.."

Syed swallowed one mouthful and felt bile rising, his head beginning to swim.

"Feel sick.."

Matt deftly held up a cardboard bowl and held back Syed's hair, waiting until he'd finished retching, wiping his mouth for him.

The touch on his hair awoke something in the dark recesses of Syed's mind, a yearning, a man laughing, breathing against his ear.

"I have to go home." He stated emphatically, swinging his legs off the trolley, trying to hold the back of the gown together.

Unhappiness and desperation had begun to claw at his heart, the bustle and lights of casualty were disturbing him, reigniting a feeling of panic, then distress of a time forgotten. His tone became firmer.

"I'm perfectly okay. Where are my clothes?"

With feeble pushes, Matt attempted to get him to lie down.

"In the cupboard here, Mr. Mitchell. They're dirty from where you were lying, the doctor says you're concussed, you should really.."

The double doors of the entrance crashed open, flashes of yellow paramedic jackets blurred by, people began to shout for assistance, A woman yelled Matt's name and he was hurried away.

Syed seized his chance and bundled up his things, slipping unseen to the gent's toilets.

* * *

Outside in the car park, the screech of an ambulance siren sent a dull ache banging through his skull, Syed touched the egg sized lump on his forehead gingerly, wincing at it's tenderness.

He searched with wild eyes for something familiar, a landmark, a symbol, something he recognised.

His throat tightened.

He wanted to go home, but he didn't know where it was.


	5. Chapter 5

"Ow!"

Christian attempted to lift his head from the pillow, without incurring the sensation that his brain was being batted from ear to ear by a malevolent giant.

"Sy!" He called plaintively, "I need a Neurofen! Eight Neurofens…."

He placed his hand on his forehead and groaned.

"Syed! I'm sorry, I fucked up, again.."

Still half cut from the night before, he finally came to the conclusion that he was either, deservedly in his mind, being given the silent treatment or that Syed wasn't there.

'He's gone out..'

He attempted to remember what day it was.

'Friday..'

Then Syed would definitely have been up early to go to Mosque.

'No, It's Saturday.."

Saturday morning, they always tried to be together, have a long lie in.

'And the rest..' Christian smiled, running his hand over his groin, surprised by the touch of fabric.

He managed to push himself up against the headboard, scanning the flat through half closed, reddened eyes.

"Sy!" He yelled again, the volume of his own voice making him wince, re starting the giant's game of ping pong in his skull.

He looked down at his clothed body in surprise. No matter how furious Syed was with him when he rolled in drunk and incapable, he always patiently undressed him, fending off the inebriated fumbling, and put him to bed.

An icy chill ran down Christian's spine as pieces of the night before began to slot into place.

He tried to calm his racing heart, conning himself that Syed had just nipped to the Minute Mart, or was still pissed off with him and was letting him stew whilst he shared breakfast in the Café with Tamwar.

He spotted his phone, pressed under a fold of the duvet by his side.

'A text, it was about the text..'

He grabbed the mobile up, to make doubly sure that he had sent the text, that Syed knew he hadn't lied.

Squinting in confusion at the last message in his outbox, he read it aloud;

"Cod whtgn ynu peas ken hom….. What the fuck? At least I spelt the kisses right."

Dim images of a half empty bar, Sam's sharp disgruntled face, a vivid blue drink were becoming clearer.

'Crap. So much apologising to do..'

He eased upright, almost tripping over his half undone laces.

He couldn't fight down the realisation punching at his gut, that Syed would never have let him sleep in his boots, that it was becoming entirely possible that he might not have come home last night.

'Who can blame him, after that beautiful endearment of love, 'peas ken hom..' I'm a fucking arse. Unless he's gone to the High Street to get some Chinese food..?'

It was taking all his resolve to stop himself from panicking. The rational, sensible side insisting that Syed would be back soon, was teaching him a lesson, waiting for him to see the error of his ways. Whilst all the while the unbearable notion, that Syed may have finally got sick of him, had enough, gone for good, caused a tight band to crush around his chest, and sent him racing to the wardrobe.

Gasping with relief, Christian picked up the sleeve of a checked shirt and kissed it. He leant against the door until he got his breath back, imagining Syed in each outfit in turn, the places they had been when he was wearing them, the things they had experienced, endured, how long it had taken to take them off.

'Seconds…. I'll have a shower,' he decided, 'make myself look half human for when he gets back.'

The force of the water gushing onto his face revived him slightly, though his hands still shook as he squirted out the shower gel, and no matter how high he pushed the setting, he still felt cold. He kept thinking he heard the door go, turning off the tap excitedly, but it was only sounds from the chip shop below.

Sitting at the dining table in Syed's dressing gown, nursing a cup of black coffee, he rang Syed's number for the umpteenth time, exasperated at always hearing the well spoken tones of an electronic woman informing him that: 'It has not been possible to connect your call.'

"Piss off!" He shouted at her. "It will be possible for my foot to connect with your fucking arse!"

He wanted to go and search for Syed in the square, spot him casually chatting to someone, see him grumpily try to hide the light in his eyes as he approached, wanted an earful, to be called all the names under the sun, have things thrown at him. Be able to wrestle Syed down onto the bed and make him forgive him.

But he was scared to leave the flat in case he came home and found him gone,. Terrified to use the mobile to call anyone, in case he was trying to get through.

Eventually he could stand the inactivity no longer, and hastily dressed in his work tracksuit.

Pressing Sam and Steve's home number, he impatiently listened to the dialling tone until eventually someone answered.

"Do you know what fucking time it is?" Sam asked waspishly.

Christian glanced at the clock.

"Why, has your watch broken? It's eleven, nearly."

"On a fucking Saturday morning. Some of us were at Trade until six this morning, not like some big, soppy, love struck pussy that can't handle his drinks, naming no names.. Has Syed stopped yelling at you yet?"

"I don't think he's been home.." Christian fought down the catch in his throat, pretending to be nonchalant.

"Really? Have you rung him?"

The element of concern Christian detected in Sam's tone made the skin on his arms shiver with goose bumps.

"Now why didn't I think of that? Duh, I've done nothing but. What does it mean when you get that bloody posh cow telling you your call can't be connected?"

"Dunno. That your call can't be connected?"

"Helpful.."

"Hang on.."

Christian heard a muffled conversation on the other end of the line, Steve mumbling, obviously still half asleep.

"Steve says he could be out of range of signal. In a tunnel or something."

Christian clutched onto a wave of relief.

"On the tube."

"Or he could have taken the sim out."

"Why would he do that? Unless he doesn't want to be contacted. Oh crap, do you think he's left me?"

The coffee churned sickeningly in Christian's stomach.

Sam giggled hysterically.

"Left you? Haaa! Doubt it. Has he packed a bag or anything?"

"No, everything's still here."

"Perhaps he went out and was having such fun, he forgot the time, had to stay over at someone's. I know that doesn't sound much like Syed, but you never know.."

"Fuck off. But why not call?"

"Might not be awake yet, might have spilt orange juice on his phone. I don't know darling, just try not to be hysterical. He isn't here, wish he was, but you two are shit at sharing. You're just going to have to be super uncool and needy and start ringing round…"

Christian gulped, hot tears smarting in his eyes.

"I am super uncool and needy. I need him here."


	6. Chapter 6

The drizzle had increased to a fine persistent rain, and Syed huddled into his jacket, wishing he didn't smell quite so much like a wino. He studied the timetable in the bus shelter, trying to ignore the sly glances in his direction from two old women in plastic rain hats, their wrinkled faces sour with disapproval.

It seemed he could get a number seventy to Kensington. In his miasma of confusion, he had no idea whether this was a good thing, or bad. He had an urge to put as much space between him and the hospital as possible, but the weather, now turned to a downpour that rattled on the metal roof above him and blew up from the puddles on the pavement, soaking his jeans, was bringing another lost image. A woman crouched on the ground, tears streaming, reluctantly taking his hand.

The roar of traffic on the nearby Westway added to the agony in his head and he yearned for escape, a quiet place, to hide in the small thread of comfort and warmth that burned in his heart, ever present beneath the waking nightmares.

'Whoever I am, I must be incredibly cursed and fortunate in equal measure.' He mused, searching through his pockets for his Oyster Card as the bus approached.

"Sod it.." he stepped back from the entrance, cannoning into the man behind him, who tutted and muttered an insult under his breath. Syed blundered his way down the street, weaving through the unfamiliar faces that looked at him askance, making assumptions.

'I'm not mad!' Syed wanted to scream. 'I'm lost…'

"Mr. Mitchell?"

The red umbrella with a broken spike tilted up and Matt's round face smiled at him.

"You shouldn't be out here, Mr. Mitchell. Let me take you back.."

Syed span round and dodged the outstretched hand.

"No! No, thank you, I'm fine. I've lost my wallet…"

"You had nothing on you when they brought you in, Mr. Mitchell. Only this.."

Embarrassed, Matt pulled the moisturiser from his carrier bag.

"..I wasn't stealing it. I wanted to keep it safe for you. Here.."

Syed took it and turned it over, wishing it would spark some recollection, but all he got was the sensation of love. He curled his fingers around it like a touchstone.

"I've got no money."

"If you won't go back to the hospital, let me take you to a police station, or I could lend you some money, not enough to get back to Leeds, sorry, not pay day yet. But if your friends live nearby?"

Syed's head drooped, and he stood amidst the passers by, defeated.

Matt gently took his elbow and steered him into a nearby café, pausing to shake droplets from his umbrella in the doorway.

"You must be starving. And you're soaking. Sit here. Let me get you something to eat. A bacon roll?"

Slumping into the wooden chair that Matt had pulled back for him, Syed shook his head.

"I don't eat bacon. And I think I prefer bagels…"

"Oh, right. I'm having some soup. It's nice here, lovely and thick. I'm on a diet, otherwise I'd have a fry up. Mind you, I'm always on a diet, and it doesn't usually stop me… Shall I get you some?"

"Yes. Soup. Don't throw bits of bread at me though.."

'Where the hell did that come from?' Syed asked himself. 'Don't tell me I really have gone mental and think I'm a duck?'

Trying to mask a small involuntary double take, Matt grinned encouragingly.

"I won't do that Mr. Mitchell. Sit there, I shouldn't be too long."

Quite pleased that he hadn't slopped too much out of the bowls and onto the tray, Matt slid the soup over to Syed and handed him a spoon.

"It's vegetable, There was oxtail, but I didn't know, the no bacon. Are you a vegetarian?"

"I'm a Muslim." His clear, solid knowledge of this fact gladdened Syed, if he'd remembered this, what else might follow?

"Oh, right. I used to be religious.."

Syed paused with a spoonful to his mouth and smiled politely at his rescuer. The dark bruises livid under his tired eyes.

"Used to be? Which faith, and I'm sorry, your name? I can't…"

"It's Matt, Matt Jameson, like the whiskey.. Episcopalian."

The hot liquid warmed Syed's throat, spreading into his stomach and lessening the chill on his skin. He could feel his clothes steaming in the warmth of the café.

"Sorry, I reek. I don't drink, you know, must have fallen in it…"

A flash of a vodka bottle on the dirty ground, it's contents seeping out, a sharp blow on his back, mingled with laughter, a band playing, the blinking lights of a fruit machine and someone whispering delicious things in his ear.

"It's likely you were mugged. You really should let me take you to the police.."

'Police Station.' Thought Syed, seeing a blue lamp, waiting for that someone to walk back out through the doors. He touched the lump on his forehead.

"That's a nasty bruise.." Matt's features were crumpled with worry.

Syed didn't answer, just smiled sweetly and felt a wash of exhaustion sweep through his bones.

"I'm very tired Nurse Matt Jameson…."

"Look, Where I live, it's not far. If you won't let me take you back to the hospital, at least come home with me until you feel stronger.."

Syed yawned, the memory of strong arms enveloped him, holding him close, keeping him safe.

"Home…."


	7. Chapter 7

Christian practised sounding calm and unworried in front of the mirror.

"Hey, Tamwar! How are you? Is Syed with you?… Aargh, then he'll ask why I want to know, and why I don't know where he is, and Zainab might be there with her inhuman supersonic hearing and powers of deduction. Actually, scrub the last bit, never worked out he was gay did you? HA! Oh shit, and now I'm talking to my reflection…."

Resolutely, Christian found the number stored in the address book on the computer and dialled it.

"Hello?" Tamwar's voice sounded suspicious, in the background Christian could hear the clattering of pans and someone shouting for Dahl.

"Hi! Tam, It's Christian!" The forced jocularity was giving Christian throat ache.

"Why are you ringing me?"

'For a chat? Haven't spoken to you in a while? How's your parents?….'

Christian decided against his rehearsed openers and cut straight to the point.

"I was wondering if Syed was with you.."

"Why would he be here? In a kitchen on a Saturday lunch time? I don't want to be here, so someone that didn't have to be here, would have to be all kinds of mental…."

"Yes, sure, I get it. Have you seen him this morning?"

"No. Why? Haven't you? That's odd, seeing as you live in the same flat…"

Christian was beginning to want to scream.

"His Mosque.." He cut in urgently. "In Loughton, have you got the address? I thought I might go and surprise him.."

"Is he there? I don't think that's a good idea, not after the last time you strolled in to have a little look. He won't thank you for it…"

'That's where you are wrong,' thought Christian, 'I was thoroughly thanked for it, twice…' The recollection, Syed's hair against the pillow, mouth urgently seeking his own, brought him up sharply, caused him to intake a breath with a sharp hiss of longing.

"Are you okay, Christian? Is Syed okay? Oh, pants, Mum's come in. I'll call you later…."

* * *

Zahida blew her nose noisily at the other end of the phone.

"Aw. Have you got Baz's man flu?" Christian asked sympathetically.

"No, Christian. I have a cold. Which is what he has. I am managing to get children to ballet lessons and drama club and do the weekly shop. He is lying on a sofa watching a box set of Die Hard. Sorry about cancelling. What did you two get up to? No, don't tell me, I'll just get jealous. Still, you could be in the same boat as me one day. How will you cope with kids when you've both got man flu?"

"We will have gay flu." The notion that the future he had expected to have with Syed might have been snatched away, made him weak, and he leaned against the table for support.

"Za, Sy didn't come home last night…"

"WHAT? Are you sure? Of course you're sure, sorry. Have you rung the police?"

Christian slumped into a chair.

"Do you think I should? We'd had a row.."

"It's not like him though, is it. I've worried you.."

"I'm frantic anyway…"

Hearing Christian's anxiety made Zahida want to kick herself.

"Oh poor honey. Give it a few more hours, I'm sure he'll be back. Don't take any notice of me. Do you want me to come round?"

Christian realised he would quite like some company, floundering about on his own, he feared he might lose the plot, as well as Syed. But she sounded so ill, he declined.

"No, no. I'll get Roxy over."

* * *

Roxy's phone kept sending him to voicemail.

"Roxy, when you've got a minute in your busy schedule, call me back. I need you, I think Sy's left me.."

Saying the words kept making him start to cry. Through a blur of tears he worked his way through any phone numbers he could find. Wanting to hurl abuse at the one's who merely put the receiver down at the sound of Syed's name, or pretended they'd never heard of him.

Eventually he could no longer stand the solitude of the flat. He found the biggest piece of paper he could and wrote on it in thick black marker pen;

**SYED, HAVE GONE OUT. DON'T MOVE, STAY PUT. BACK SOON, LOVE YOU XXX**

* * *

"But he's always a bit cross with you Christian. Cross and delighted in equal measure.."

Jane collapsed onto a seat in the corner of the Vic and thirstily gulped at her glass of lemonade.

"…It's boiling in that kitchen. What had you done?"

Christian sat beside her and put his head in his hands.

"Took him for granted, made decisions without him. Except, this time I didn't, he just expected that I had…"

"That doesn't sound too bad…" She rubbed his back reassuringly.

"It's just, it's starting to remind me, when he left after the party, and I didn't know where he was, and he wouldn't answer the phone…"

Jane pulled a face.

"That was a bit different Christian, you had just played no small part in bringing his world crashing down around his ears.."

"Cheers Sis. I recall you being stupendously supportive then as well…"

Jane grabbed his arm as he stood up to leave, his face twisted with hurt and anger.

"I was worried about you Christian, what you were getting yourself into, I'm truly sorry. He loves you, and he's the best thing that's ever happened to you, I can see that now. But try not to overreact, calm down. I'm sure he'll be back before you know it, I'll help you look when I've finished here, but I bet you he'll be home by then.."

"Really? And what odds would you give me? Thanks, but no thanks.."

He stormed out of the pub, pushing past Max in the doorway, ignoring the abuse hurled in his wake.

* * *

Letting himself into the empty flat, it felt how it had, before he'd found Syed. Clean, sterile, a perfect bachelor pad. His sign was still there, and Syed wasn't. He jumped as his mobile's buzz broke the silence and eagerly snatched it from his pocket to read the screen.

_'Awww babes. Bit busy. Sorry about Syed. You've still got me. Xxxx'_

"FUCK OFF!"

Christian nearly threw the phone across the room, stopping himself in time on realising that, if he broke it, Syed wouldn't be able to get in contact.

Sadly taking the sign from the notice board, he spotted another piece of paper it had been obscuring, a message to him in Syed's handwriting;

**'Christian! Buy milk. Buy big milk, not small milk, buy two. Know you love the Minute Mart, but Patrick says you scare him with your perving. Sy xxxxxxxx P.S Don't draw a cock on this.'**

He smiled and touched the words, tracing his finger over the ink, wishing he could somehow make Syed manifest out of the page.

The paper shifted slightly, revealing a postcard of the Leaning Tower of Pisa.


	8. Chapter 8

"Sorry about the mess.."

Matt bent to pick up the carrier bag from the floor in the doorway and added it to another on an overflowing table. He switched on the harsh overhead light, hoping to dispel the grey gloom of the rainy afternoon. A draft from the ill fitting sash window made the dingy paper lamp shade twirl slowly, sending shadows across the tiny bedsit.

"Don't worry.."

Syed glanced up at the wall behind the unmade single bed, covered in a jazzy swirling seventies paper, the silver and black zigzags made his eyes throb. He swayed slightly, attempting to focus and rid himself of the feeling that it was peeling away, revealing words that filled him with panic, mingled with an innate acceptance of their truth, wishing he could remember what they said.

Matt saw him stagger and hurried him to a small flowered chesterfield, it's springs long broken, horsehair stuffing poking scratchily from a small tear.

A scruffy tabby cat jumped up, outraged at being disturbed from it's slumber. It meowed crossly at Syed and gave him a dirty look.

Matt picked it up tenderly and stroked it's bony head.

"This is Deirdre. Do you like cats?"

Syed looked at the cat and the cat returned his gaze with hostility. He had no idea whether or not he liked them, he had a feeling he'd never had much to do with any.

"I don't think she likes me…"

Matt laughed.

"Oh, she doesn't think much of anyone. Only food, she loves food.."

He put her down carefully and walked a few steps to the kitchenette, rummaging about in yet another unpacked carrier bag for a tin of Whiskas. Deirdre commenced a frantic meowing, only ceasing when the cat food reached her bowl.

Wiping his hands on a tea towel, Matt asked;

"Can I get you a cup of tea? There might even be biscuits somewhere, cheap ones.." He pulled an apologetic face.

"Yes please.." Syed had been about to say that he used to work in a biscuit factory, making custard creams, but he stopped himself, not entirely convinced at the veracity of the statement. He pushed back the hair from his forehead, accidentally knocking against the bump and wincing.

"I might need to lie down…."

Matt hurried across to the bed, smoothing down the duvet, retrieving a pair of socks from under the pillow.

"Of course, here…"

Narrowing his eyes against the stabbing pain in his skull, Syed feebly protested;

"No, It's yours, I couldn't, you've done a night shift…"

"I'll be comfy enough on the sofa." Matt lied. "Besides, got a day off now. Your tea's by the side, if you want it…"

"Have you got anything I can wear? Can't stand the stench of myself anymore."

Hastily rooting around on the floor of the battered wardrobe, Matt found a white T shirt, sniffing it surreptitiously to make sure it was clean.

"It'll be a bit big…"

"That's alright, his clothes are too big for me too…"

'His? Whose?'

Again, Syed was suffused with a warm radiant joy. It seemed he could see someone from the corner of his eye, tantalisingly disappearing out of view, was watching from afar, secretly, across a London square. The set of broad shoulders, hair cropped close to his neck. He wanted to touch him, call out 'wait for me!' Make him take him home.

But then the vision was gone, and he was sitting in a strange room, with a stranger, who, Syed could tell, was anxiously attempting to keep himself from watching, whilst he peeled off his own clothes and dragged the T shirt over his head.

Matt tried to move quietly about the room, tidying for the first time in weeks. Cursing the apathy, and tiredness, that had let him leave everything in such a state for so long. He found an old cat toy of Deirdre's wedged under the skirting board, a small rubber ball that had been in a cat's Christmas stocking. He tried to prise it out with a biro and sent it skittering across the floor.

Syed whimpered in his sleep. The sound had transmitted to his nightmares and he could see beads, cascading in slow motion onto a stripped wooden floor. Could sense the weight of a large piece of machinery, was calmed by a deep voice.

He awoke to the faint smell of fish. He opened his eyes and met Deirdre's, balanced on his chest, inches away from his face. She blinked and reached out a paw to bat him on the nose.

"Easy tiger.." He smiled at her and stroked her matted fur.

Matt appeared, big round face crumpled with awkwardness, and picked Deirdre up.

"She's very old, that's why she smells so bad…"

"Will happen to us all…"

"Are you feeling any better, Mr. Mitchell? Might I call you Baz, if that's okay…" Matt reddened, hoping he wasn't being impertinent.

"You've given me a place to rest, been so kind, you can call me anything you like. I think I should be going now…"

Syed, relieved of Deirdre's bony body, sat up. The pain had subsided to a dull ache now, though his muscles were tense and knotted from the lumpy mattress.

'Need a massage.' A remembered scent of orange oil wafted alluringly in his nostrils, mixed with the heady smell of sex.

"Back to Leeds?"

"No, I got that wrong, confused. I used to live there, I don't live there anymore…"

"Oh. Well a blow to the head, bound to muddle you up.. " Matt cringed at himself, realising he wasn't sounding very medical. "..Where do you live?"

A train rattled by on the mainline railway, feet from the bedsit window, causing the newly washed up cups on the drainer to rattle crazily. Forlorn and sad, Syed waited for it to pass. He shrugged dejectedly.

"No idea."


	9. Chapter 9

"Come on, come on, come on.."

Christian scrolled down the list of names and numbers, the figures on the screen turning to a blur in his desperation to find Michael. He couldn't understand why he hadn't seen it before, and after six attempts, that sent him woozy and dizzy, he realised his number wasn't there.

He knew it had been in Syed's phone, they had texted Michael from outside a café in Montmartre to get his address, both helpless with giggles over the postcard they'd written.

"Shit, crap, fuck.."

Christian recalled a conversation in the flat, his own voice tetchy, partly pretending, but with an undercurrent of seriousness, saying;

"No, he's YOUR special friend, put his special number in, see if I care…"

And he had been glad for Syed to have a friend of his own, despite the gnawing jealousy that it had to be one quite so drop dead gorgeous.

Christian hunted around, throwing piles of magazines onto the floor, strewing old bills and invites around him, until he was squatting amidst a sea of paper.

"Wobbly!"

He scooted across to the table on his knees, extricating the folded up business card from under one of the legs.

* * *

Michael shifted the blue towel lower onto his knee and pouted at the other occupant of the sauna, hitching up slightly, to relieve the pressure of the wooden slats from his buttocks.

'Hope they don't leave a mark..' He mused, astonishing himself at the extent of his vanity. He casually wiped away a rivulet of sweat that was trickling down his chest.

His companion, six foot four of pure muscle, his abdomen so tight it made Michael feel slightly paunchy, winked and opened his legs.

"Hi!"

The voice didn't quite match the stature, and Michael had to bite back a terrible urge to giggle.

"Hi…"

'Oh crap, I nearly said 'hot in here'….' Michael smiled, making damn sure it showed his dimples and the white evenness of his teeth to their full advantage.

"Hot in here!" The other man simpered.

'No shit, Sherlock.'

Michael edged nearer.

"It could get hotter…"

'Haaaa! God help me, the crap I come out with for a fuck. Don't laugh, Michael, don't laugh…'

"Yeah, baby!"

Michael quickly whipped up his towel and pretended to wipe his face, biting into the material in an attempt to stifle his mirth. He could feel his erection drooping.

Emerging, he narrowed his eyes, and rested his gaze on the other man's cock. Suddenly able to cope with any manner of trite dialogue, he licked his lips.

"Shall we take this somewhere private?"

The other man nodded his consent, and Michael wanted to thank him for remaining silent and not ruining the mood with another inanity.

"Just need to get something from my locker.."

Michael let his towel trail behind him as he left, turning at the door to throw a smouldering look over his shoulder.

"Room 43. Be ready…."

* * *

'Tee hee hee!' The tiles of the locker room were cold under his bare feet. The attendant's glance was cold too, on seeing which locker Michael opened.

"Sir's mobile has been ringing incessantly.." He grumbled. "We do like our gentlemen to switch them off when in the club, for the comfort of the other patrons."

Michael looked him up and down scathingly, unable to see how his phone ringing could have upset anyone other than the man himself.

"That's a shame. Someone must want me badly!"

'Not like you…' He fished the phone from his bag and checked the missed calls, all from a number he didn't recognise. He tried to think of which of his recent conquests he might have given his number to.

'Too many to name, I'm a fucking animal…'

Tightening the towel around his waist, he hoped his new friend wasn't getting bored waiting, and touched the screen for voicemail.

The messages started off quite rationally, and he felt a frisson of glee at the first one, rapidly turning to alarm as they progressed.

"Hey, Michael. It's Christian, Syed's boyfriend. Wonder if you could call back…"

"Michael, Christian again. Give us a call."

"Can you ring me Michael. Soon."

"Michael, Christian again. I was wondering if you knew. If maybe, have you seen Syed?"

"Is Syed with you Michael? Please ask him to give me a ring, tell me he's safe.."

"For fuck's sake Michael, stop fucking about and fucking ring me, I'm going out of my fucking mind.."

Michael dressed hurriedly and made for the exit, all thoughts of the muscle man in room 43 dispelled from his mind. Out in the busy evening hubbub of Covent Garden, he pressed redial, pressing the phone tight against his ear as a group of Spanish tourists bundled excitedly past.

"Christian! It's Michael. What's happened?"


	10. Chapter 10

Michael was shocked by the sight that greeted him in the doorway. Christian looked diminished, haunted. A worry line was etched across his forehead and he seemed close to tears.

"Aw mate, you look awful…"

"Cheers.." Christian managed a wry grin. "You, infuriatingly, look fabulous. Did I drag you away from anywhere good?"

Michael handed his coat over.

"Sauna."

"Which one?"

"Covent Garden."

"That miserable fucker still in the charge of the lockers?"

"Oh yes.."

"He must be eighty by now, still got the dodgy syrup?"

Michael laughed.

"That's never a wig? So convincing.."

Christian gestured for him to sit down.

"Sorry, were you in the middle of someone good?"

"About to start. Don't worry though, body like a gladiator, voice like Joe Pasquale. I'd already got bored, and I hadn't even touched him. So, what's been going on?"

Christian lifted a bottle of wine and a glass, making a pouring motion. Michael put his thumb up and Christian brought over the drinks, sitting on the sofa beside him.

"Syed's disappeared…"

"Is his stuff still here?"

"Yes."

Noticing the flat tone of the response, Michael figured that Christian had been asked that question a lot recently.

"So, I don't get it. Did you have a row?"

Christian sighed and took a sip of wine.

"Yeah. One of many recently…"

"Really?" Michael couldn't hide his surprise.

"It's not all hearts and flowers you know, a lot of hearts and I did buy him flowers, but I keep messing up, pressurising him into doing things before he's ready.."

Michael raised his eyebrows and sniggered.

" Fuck off, not like that, oh I can see what he means now, that is a bit annoying.. Nah, he's so very, very complicated. Sometimes I forget what he's been through to get where he is, and I go forging ahead, without making sure if he's ready to come with me…"

"He loves you though?"

"I thought so, I know I love him. But where is he Michael? Why won't he get in touch?"

Michael surveyed their home whilst he thought. So much smaller than his own, yet so much better. The signs of their mutual lives, a photo of them outlined against the snow, notes pinned to a board, their shoes lined up by the door, a copy of Men's Health half covering a book of Islamic poetry.

"And his phone won't work?"

Christian ran his hands over his head in agitation.

"Keep getting some electronic whore.."

"And you last saw him yesterday evening?"

"Yep, flouncing through that door, all hair, and sexiness, and fury. Oh shit. What am I going to do? He's got the second part of an exam on Tuesday, people to massage all the rest of the week. I've got clients everyday…."

Michael patted Christian's arm.

"I can sort that out, I have a beautiful telephone manner."

"I bet you do, try not to turn it into a gay chat line.."

"Mr. Masood won't be able to give you your full body rub as promised, but I have taken my pants down and my cock is throbbing…"

The short laugh died quickly in Christian's throat.

"Stop it, I'm dying here. Should I ring the police? The hospital's?"

"I'm not any sort of expert, having learnt most of what I know from the late, lamented Bill, love a uniform, me, but don't you have to be missing for a while longer, if you're an adult? And the hospital's.. Would they tell you? I mean…"

A muscle in Christian's jaw twitched and his mouth set into a firm line.

"I would make them tell me…"

"I'm being a bit of a crap Robin to your Batman here, aren't I? You should try and rest, Christian, let me at least be on hand to answer the phone. Oh, I've had a thought.."

Christian twisted eagerly to face him, a faint glimmer of hope flickering to life in his tired eyes. It died quickly as Michael continued;

"Have you spoken to his Mum and Dad?"

Pacing about the room, fists clenched, Michael deduced that Christian wasn't in favour of the idea.

"They'll fucking put flags out, if they think he's left me. That's if they acknowledge his existence. According to them he's been dead for a while now, a ghost walking around the square under their very noses, tossers. I'd never get through the front door, I'd have a door knob shaped indentation on my nose the minute they clapped eyes on me. And even if they'd listen, It'd end up in a slanging match. Don't forget, I'm the devil incarnate, the rampaging homo predator, polluter of minds and, more importantly, bodies. They wouldn't tell me, if they knew, not in a million years, even if they've got him held prisoner in the back bedroom…"

Coming to an abrupt halt, Christian asked;

"You don't think?"

Michael stood and put a supportive arm around Christian's shoulder, forcing him to sit down.

"Now, that's as likely as Syed being abducted by aliens and taken to a distant star to have probes stuck in his ear, or elsewhere. I could go. They'll remember me, liked me. Neither of them has a clue that I'm gay, that I've spoken to the pair of you, found out what they did…."

"You don't know the half of it, Michael, believe me. That man left me lying bleeding on a pavement, let Syed's father in law beat me to a pulp without lifting a finger to help… And don't get me started on how they fucked up Syed's head.."

A shudder ran through his body and he fought back a sob.

"Noooo! Don't Christian, I'm rubbish at people crying, I'll start too and we'll end up wailing all night. Let me talk to them, see if they've got any ideas as to where he might be…." Michael patted Christian's head.

. "…Anyhow, I'm sure Zainab used to fancy me."


	11. Chapter 11

Syed pulled the tatty net curtain to one side and looked, beyond the small overgrown garden, sodden and grey in the fading light, to the railway line. A train had halted at a red signal and he could see the people inside, a group of teenagers laughing and showing each other their phones, an elderly couple, the woman handing over a sandwich, and a man who stared with stricken eyes into the middle distance.

The engine chugged to life and it drew away, heading out on it's way to the suburbs, taking it's occupants to parties, home, and who knew where.

A high speed train dashed past in the other direction, rattling the window panes again.

Syed turned to Matt and asked him;

"Doesn't that get on your nerves?"

Matt made a small gesture of defeat.

"I hardly notice it anymore. And I like to watch the trains, see the people. I often wonder where they're off to, if they're happy…" He fiddled with the sleeve of his jumper, pulling at an unravelling thread.

"Are you happy, Matt?"

Syed regarded the young man sitting across from him on the sofa, wriggling in discomfiture at the question, putting on a bright, fake, smile.

"Ye-es, mostly. I love my job, though it's hard. I struggle with some of the exams.."

"Ugh, exams…"

'Which exams? What for? Why am I doing exams?' Syed searched for a hint of a reason, but drew a blank.

"Awful, aren't they." Matt agreed. "What you said, forgetting where you live, you must go back to.."

Syed ignored the suggestion that he guessed was following, and turned golden eyes to scrutinize Matt's face.

"You said you used to be religious, Matt.." He was pleased that, at least, his short term memory appeared to be functioning. "What happened to make you lose your faith?"

He saw the flush rise up Matt's neck, noticed him sag like a badly cooked soufflé.

"I didn't, I mean, I still believe.. But my church, in the village, where I lived…"

"Go on.." Syed waited, patient and still, for him to continue.

"They had set ideas.."

"About what?"

Realising his cheeks were now flaming red, Matt hastily stood up, turning his back. He went to the tap and poured out a glass of water.

"About certain things being wrong.."

"Abomination…" Muttered Syed, wincing at the tight stab of pain in his gut.

Matt started, spilling water onto the draining board. He felt a stirring of indignation, he had let this man into his home, how dare he insult him. Mustering all the courage he could find, he slammed the glass down and pointed to the door.

"Please leave, I don't need to be called names in my own home…"

Mortified, Syed held up his hands in apology.

"I'm so sorry Matt, I didn't mean you! What you said, sparked a memory… Were you called that? Who by?"

Matt regarded the stranger, sat cross legged on the centre of his bed, livid bruises hiding the beauty of his skin, long hair tangled and dirty, and questioned whether he could be trusted. Matt had stopped trusting, he had done it once and had been betrayed..

"My Dad, just before he punched me in the face and kicked me out the door.."

Blood pounded inside Syed's head, whooshing against his ears, and a vision sprang up, of a man shouting, a girl weeping, as if her heart had been shattered. He felt a push, someone bearing down upon him, their face contorted with rage. And then a body across him, protecting him, tear filled eyes fixed upon his own, until he was dragged forcibly away. He reached out and twisted his hand in the sheet to steady himself.

"I'm so sorry, Matt. He should never have done that to you.."

Matt picked up his cat and held her close against his chest, burying his nose into her fur, for comfort.

"No. Well, it's what he believed. A son of his, that way.. I don't want to repeat the words he called me.."

"Nor should you have to. And your Mother?"

"She cried. I was her only child…"

Syed unsteadily rose to his feet, and placed his hand on Matt's shoulder.

"And you never speak to them?"

"Mum sends a card, Christmas and Birthday's. But I won't go home.."

He pulled away from the pressure of Syed's touch, unnerved.

"..Anyway, it doesn't matter. I'm concerned about you. If you've lost your memory, someone must be looking for you, missing you. If we went to the police.. You might have a wife, children.."

A glitter of gold, the proud faces of people he loved and an empty hollow desperation, a man's broad back as he walked away. The images misting into the sound of a small, tinny tune, and a pink heart cut from card.

A shiver shook through Syed's body.

"I'm scared, Matt. Awful things have happened, I can feel them, but I don't know what they are, they keep slipping away.." He smiled ruefully. "It's like I'm trying to hold onto jelly.."

"Were you running away? When you got hurt?"

Syed considered the question carefully for a moment, silent, as a freight train sounded it's horn mournfully into the night.

"No. There's something else, a beautiful thing. But I'm terrified that it's only a dream, that only the misery is real… You've been very brave Matt, making a new life."

Matt placed Deirdre gently onto the floor and busied himself in dishing out some more cat food.

"It's not that much of a life. I work, I stay in.."

"There are places you could go, meet people…"

"I don't really like the scene, too soulless.."

A faceless man, a release of passion, a filthy, corroding shame, Syed blinked the sensation away.

"Me neither." He grinned at the alarm his statement had caused, Matt suddenly nervous, as if he might be expected to perform.

"Don't worry. I'm taken!"

The relief and regret battled for Matt, and relief won.

'Who am I kidding,' he thought, 'a man like that..' Saying aloud;

"Then there will be someone waiting for you, worried. Are they worth facing the horrible stuff for?"

Syed thought his heart might burst from his chest, a coruscating flash of joy, mixed with an unbearable anguish.

"Yes, yes he is. But I can't remember his name…"


	12. Chapter 12

Undoing the top three buttons on his black wool jacket, Michael revealed the blue top that reflected the colour of his eyes.

"Do I look respectable?"

Christian looked him up and down thoughtfully.

"With that smile? Anything but…"

Brushing an imagined speck of lint from his sleeve, Michael began to feel dubious about the venture.

"Is this a good idea, Christian? Am I the right man for the job? They might win me over and send me straight. I mean, I always admire and respect people with strong beliefs,I just don't understand it. I wish I had some. I try to be political and active, march at Pride. But the reality of it is, I'm only there for a laugh and to look at the boys, more than look most times. I don't believe in anything much, not even pixies…"

"They exist, trust me, I saw one.."

Michael raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"Absinthe?" He asked.

Christian nodded.

"And poppers. You can't possibly agree with the notion that you're damned and wrong because of who you choose to sleep with?"

"Obviously not, that's bollocks. But then I don't believe in heaven, so it doesn't really matter to me if someone tells me I'm going to burn for eternity in hell fire, I think they're funny. But if that's what you've spent your whole life being told, base your entire code of conduct upon, who am I to tell you you're wrong, even though you blatantly are?"

Sighing, Christian lay on the sofa, hands behind his head.

"But it's an interpretation of words and teachings, isn't it? You have to sift through the nonsense and get to the truth, find a way. It just takes..."

"A leap of faith?" Michael moved Christian's feet out of his way and sat beside him.

"I was going to say 'balls'. Syed worked it out, he had the courage, realised he didn't have to change who he was, how he was, that he could be himself, all aspects."

"Then maybe, his parents will too? One day? He's their son…"

"God, you're such a fucking optimist. Didn't you get grief when you came out? Mine were stupendously disappointed. Mind you, I was a bit of a shit…"

Michael pondered the question, toying with the remote control he'd picked up from the coffee table.

"Um, no. They were pleased. My mother gets terribly excited telling her friends at Pilates about her homosexual son.."

Christian's jaw dropped and he frowned in sympathy.

"Shit, that must incredibly annoying.."

"I know!" Michael giggled. "Poor me! Nothing to rebel against. Right.." He stood resolutely. "I'm going in, charm notched up to eleven, if they have any idea of where he is, I'll get it out of them, you see if I don't. We'll have Syed back where he belongs before you know it…"

Christian propped himself up against a cushion and managed a small tight grin, the slight movement of his mouth having no effect on the desperate sorrow in his eyes.

"Do your best. Most likely, they'll pretend they've never heard of him…"

"Now that's silly…. I've got photographic proof."

Christian felt himself rally slightly.

"Please say it involves cricket whites."

"Yes it does, and when he's back here safe with you, I'll bring you a copy."

"I'll hold you to it. Aw, bless you Michael." Christian took his hand and gave it a brief squeeze.

"Don't say that yet, I might fuck it up. Right, here goes, to Zainabinity and beyond…"

* * *

"Hi!"

Masood went to close the door, smiling a polite apology.

"I'm sorry, we're not interested."

Michael stepped forward, positioning his body carefully, half across the threshold.

"I'm not a Mormon, Mr. Ahmed, and I can't offer you a better deal on your energy supply. It's Michael, Michael O' Riordan, Syed's friend from school…."

He saw a light of recognition, the faint hint of a pleased response and then a curtain of blankness quickly fell at the mention of his son's name.

"I'm sorry, I don't who you are…"

Laughingly patting him on the arm, Michael subtly forced his way into the hall. He could hear Zainab in another room, berating Tamwar, and a baby crying.

"Of course you do, Mr. Ahmed! I was always round your house, could never get rid of me! I used to love Mrs. Masood's cooking. Is she here?"

Masood's anxiety was palpable, Michael could almost hear the memories flashing through his mind.

"My wife is in the kitchen…"

Tamwar appeared in the doorway and peered at Michael with befuddled curiosity, he looked brow beaten and utterly fed up.

"Tam! Hi! It's Michael, remember? Wow, look at you, all grown up!"

Pushing his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose, Tamwar took a step back in surprise.

"Hello. It would be odd if I'd stayed the same size. What brings you here?"

"Mas!" The eldritch screech preceded Zainab's appearance. "What are you doing? Tell this boy to get back over to the restaurant! Who was that at the door. Oh..Oh!" Her hand flew to cover her heart. "Michael!" She made to approach him, a small spasm as her arms went out to hug him, barely seen as she quickly recovered herself.

"Mrs. Masood! You look beautiful, you haven't aged a day! I was in the area, and I thought I'd pop in to see Syed. We met up at our school reunion, is he here? Sorry to drop in unannounced and everything, but I thought on the off chance…"

Michael noticed that time appeared to have stood still. The atmosphere in the hallway was so stiff with agony that Michael felt he could have folded the three of them up like cardboard and stuffed them in his pocket.

"Syed?" He broke the silence. "Is he here?"

"Our son is dead…" Masood put his hand behind Michael, reaching for the door latch.

Relying on his distant triumph as Romeo in the school play, Michael made his features crumble with grief.

"Oh, my God!" He gasped, hoping he wasn't being too hammy. "That's awful! When? How?""

Tamwar rolled his eyes and looked from one of his parent's to the other.

"He's not literally dead, they just pretend he is…"

"TAMWAR, SHUT UP!" Michael jumped at the venom in Masood's tone.

Masood pushed the door open, the incoming gust of a cold night breeze warmer than the frosty air in the house.

"We have no contact with our son. I am sorry Michael, I must ask you to leave.."

Finding it incomprehensible that this was the same funny, cheerful, man he recalled from his childhood, that had organised all the best party games, that had always been up for a laugh, Michael looked hard into his eyes.

"What on earth did he do? Steal something?.."

Zainab shuddered slightly.

"…Kill someone?"

Exasperated, Tamwar headed for the door, pausing to shake Michael's hand.

"He went to live with a man, Michael. Christian, above the chip shop, try there. Nice to see you, must get out of this mad house…."

"I've seen Christian. He's out of his mind with worry, Syed's gone missing."


	13. Chapter 13

"Missing..." The word that escaped fom Zainab's mouth was almost inaudible. Michael saw her wild eyes slide from his to Masood's, and down to the floor, From the brief glimpse, he tried to deduce her emotions, and thought he saw a yearning sorrow.

"That isn't our concern, we only have two sons now.." Masood pointed stonily to the door. "I'd like you to leave."

"Yes! Syed and Tamwar.." Michael moved closer to Zainab, trying to get her to look at him again.

"He means Kamil." Tamwar explained patiently. "He's the baby you can hear crying. They've disowned Syed because he's in love with Christian..."

Masood stared daggers at him, uttering a snort of derision.

"Love."He spat the word venomously

Opening and shutting his mouth in disbelief, Michael coud find no words, finally he managed to splutter;

"But that's mad! He's still your little boy, the same one that you were so proud of, that worked so hard at school, to make you happy.."

"We tried to help him, we would have supported him, found him a good wife. He didn't need to act on his feelings, but that man, that..Christian..." The anger that Zainab managed to force into one name shocked Michael, and he could feel his voice rising.

"You mean the one whose sitting alone, breaking his heart with worry, not knowing where the man he loves is?

"He seems to have you for company. Has he turned you too?"

Michael met Masood's cold gaze and laughed shortly.

"No need. I have always been gay. I kissed your son once, or tried to. Maybe he caught it from me? Like a disease? Me, the favourite friend, always welcome, always special. Or was it just my successful parent's that impressed you?"

Zainab's clutched her hands together, he thought he saw her mutter something, he hoped it was 'no.'

'Shit, now I'm going to start yelling..' Thought Michael, but was unable to stop himself.

"And he could be lying somewhere, hurt. All alone in a hospital with his memory gone, or worse,he could be dead, and you don't care? I don't believe you, you were kind, good people. I know you must feel something.."

'Yelling and now blubbing, well done Michael, great work..'

As he barged by, Tamwar held out a hesitant hand in comfort, but Michael waved it away and stumbled out into the square.

Taking one look at Michael's face, Christian handed him a large whiskey and a cushion.

"You might want to punch it.." He suggested. "The cushion that is, I'd down the whiskey in one go if I were you.."

Doing as he was told didn't make Michael feel any better.

"Honestly Christian, I had no idea. How do you cope?"

"It's not so bad for me, I ignore it as much as I can. But for Sy, it's awful. Being blanked in the street, given little signs of a thawing, giving him hope, and then it all ramps up again. It's crap for Tamwar, being stuck in the middle, and they haven't learned, they try and control him too.."

Michael poured himself another drink and sat at the dining table with his head in his hands.

"Sorry, helped myself.."

"You go ahead. Did they know anything? Bung us the bottle.."

The whiskey swirled into Christian's glass and he studied the colour, thinking of Syed's eyes as he smiled up at him in the sunshine.

"I don't think so. I was crap, Christian, I've made things worse. I got so insensed that they were pretending they didn't care, I started shouting. How could they not give toss that their son might be in trouble, or dead in a ditch.."

Christian's face became waxen with fear.

"You don't think he is do you? My Sy? Lying somewhere all by himself? I feel sick.." He raced to the bathroom, the tearing sounds of his retching made Michael start to cry again.

As Christian re emerged, wiping his wet face with a towel, they managed to bleakly smile at each other.

"Pair of drama queens we are.."

"Big girl's blouses.." Agreed Michael.

"Time to stop fannying about..." Christian slipped on his boots and laced them up ."..I'm going to the police."

Two drunks were hurling abuse at each other in the reception area, being held apart by bored policemen.

Christian watched them with a look of mock horror.

"Remind me to give up drinking.."

"And me. I'm liking the uniform's."

"Down boy."

The desk sergeant motioned them across with an authorative wave.

"Why is it that I feel guilty?" Whispered Michael.

"Because you're having filthy thought's about his truncheon..Hi. I'd like to report a missing person."

The sergeant rifled through a pile of forms in the box beside him, eventually selecting the right one. Folding it over slowly and neatly, Christian wanted to slap his hands to make him go faster, realise how important it was.

"Name?"

"Mine or his?"

"Yours Sir."

"Christian Clarke."

"And the missing person's name?"

"Syed Masood."

"Are you a relation?"

"I'm his partner."

"Oh."

A whole world of prejudice lay under the weight of the inflection in the policeman's voice, and Christian narrowed his eyes in hostility.

"Boyfriend, Lover.."

The man spelt out 'partner' with measured precision.

"Height?"

"Five foot nine, taller in his boots.."

"Colour of eyes?"

"Beautiful..."

This was met with a sigh.

"How long has your partner been missing sir?"

"Since Friday evening."

The policeman looked at his watch.

"It's now one o'clock Sunday morning. Had you had a row at all?"

Christian's heart sank, suddenly realising that it sounded as if he was wasting their time.

"A bit..."

The policeman carefully folded the form and put it to one side.

'Going to file it under B for bin..' Thought Christian, his throat tightening with unhappiness.

"It might be a little early to worry Sir.."

"But you don't understand..."

"Please don't raise your voice,Sir. If you leave us your contact details, we can let the gentleman know you're worried about him, if his whereabouts become known, but I would suggest that you remain patient."

Spotting that Christian had leant forward across the counter, into the sergeant's space, Michael quickly grabbed his arm and steered him towards the exit. Smiling brightly and calling behind them;

"Thank you officer!"

"Fuckers!" Christian kicked at the kerb.

"We'll find him Christian, I promise you. I'll go home and get my car. First thing tomorrow, we'll drive anywhere you want, hunt him down, bring him home..."


	14. Chapter 14

Deidre jumped arthritically from the bed as Syed rolled over.

"Horse..." He mumbled. His dreams were taking on fantastical images, a crowd cheering, music playing. The happiest day of his life, yet his heart was breaking. A man turned away, swallowed up by a swirling black chasm of despair, and he tried to follow, tearing with feeble hands at the yards of shimmering golden cloth that hobbled him, wrapped tight and unbreakable around his legs.

Women were laughing, chattering incessantly, their sweet voices increasing in volume, the decibels tearing at his ears until they began to bleed. He was offered sweetmeats on a tray that shone like stars. Siezing them greedily, he forced them into his mouth, where they turned to worms, wriggling down into his throat, choking him.

There was a word, just out of reach, written on a wall he could only glimpse. He ran round corners, through dark streets, the name vanishing the minute he came close enough to see, and he felt the acid stinging wetness of tears stream down his face.

Something was bearing down upon him, crushing him, squeezing the breath from his lungs. A weight upon his chest, a cold tiled floor. And he wanted it, so badly, every nerve ending screaming to give in, to ignore the tug at his soul telling him it was forbidden.

He buried his head into the pillow, desperate for the images to stop, willing the miasma to clear.

A thin whisper of music crept into his unconscious from the flat above. He heard the slow plod of footsteps, the lonely rattle of a night train passing by outside, someone singing.

Someone singing and the splash of a running shower. He calmed as the bed grew warm, a safe haven. He imagined the smell of toast, fresh coffee, the feel of a mouth soft against his own, the pressure of hard muscles across his skin, a touch on his hair.

Smiling in his sleep, Syed rolled onto his back and announced clearly into the thin approaching light of dawn;

"I love you."

The words woke Matt from his uncomfortable slumber on the sofa and he sat upright, peering across at the bed and asking into the darkness;

"Baz? Are you okay?.."

But Syed had turned onto his side, his breathing slow and calm, and didn't respond.

When Matt awoke for the second time, his neck hurting where he had cricked it, his feet numb from the pressure of Deirdre's body lying across them, he immediatley glanced anxiously over to the bed to check on his guest.

Syed was sitting on the end, dressed in his own clothes, hands clasped loosely on his lap.

"Morning!" He greeted Matt cheerfully.

"Hi..You look better, you were having nightmares, I think. Have you remembered anything?"

"No, not as such. But I realise I'd very much like to go home. If you could take me back to the hospital, I'd be really grateful..."

Matt thought swiftly, clutching his blanket to his chest, he began to worry.

As if reading his mind, Syed suggested;

"We don't have to say you brought me here, if it would get you into trouble..."

"Oh, I don't know, it might look a bit unethical, people might say stuff..." Flustered, he rubbed at his limp, dishevelled hair, sending it into mad peaks.

'Meringue.' thought Syed, saying aloud;

"I worry about what people will say, think. Too much sometimes, but it doesn't matter you know, everyone has some sort of a secret, or a demon. You've done nothing wrong, you've just been incredibly kind. Point me in the right direction and I'll be off..."

Syed stood to leave and Matt felt a small pang of loss, he had thought he was happy in his own company, shut away from the world once he left work, but he realised he had enjoyed the experience, the physical prescence of another human being in his home, even if they had been asleep for most of the time.

"No, give me a moment. I'll get dressed and come with you." He picked some clothes from the airer by the gas fire and went to take them into the bathroom to change, pausing to wonder;

"What's made you decide to go back?"

The bruises beneath them were changing colour and had faded slightly, but Syed's eyes were clear and bright as he met Matt's

" I can cope with the bad stuff. I want to see him, whoever he is."


	15. Chapter 15

Dr. Croker clicked off her torch with a decisive snap and Syed waited for his pupils to return to normal size, bringing the cubicle curtains back into focus.

"Well, I can see no physiological reason for the amnesia, which is a positive sign, says to me that it's most likely a temporary reaction to trauma. Have you recalled anything at all? Have any memories been triggered?"

"I have sensations, dreams, but nothing concrete, nothing I can pin down as yet.."

"I'm sure it will come, soon enough. The police are on their way to talk to you, we'll get you back home before you know it."

She scribbled something on his chart and smiled pleasantly, moving swiftly on to her next patient.

Sister Maddy removed the blood pressure cuff from his arm with a loud tear of Velcro.

"There you go, all done. Lucky Matt found you, wouldn't want to think of you wandering around the streets on your own, not knowing who you are."

Syed swung his legs off the trolley and perched on the edge.

"He's been wonderful."

Deftly folding away the monitor, Maddy nodded in agreement.

"He's a lovely lad. Always keeps himself to himself, though. Which is a shame, as I know for a fact there's a young man in Pharmacy who's quite keen on him."

"He just needs a bit of encouragement.."

She looked at Syed with interest.

"You're probably right. We do tend to assume that he won't want to come out with us on work social's and have stopped inviting him quite so much. I shall make sure that changes. You're a very wise young man, Mr…"

"Who knows?" Syed laughed. "I hope I find out soon."

A pretty policewoman bustled in, weighed down by her belt, her hat perched precariously on a mass of auburn hair and quickly took his statement.

It was extremely brief, on account of him having not even the faintest idea of who he might be, or what had happened to him. She promised she would radio in and check the records as soon as possible, see if anyone who matched his description had been reported missing since Friday.

"Do you think anyone will be concerned as to your whereabouts?" She asked kindly, as she made to leave, and he replied, with utmost certainty, that someone would.

* * *

Tamwar shuffled down the stairs in his pyjamas, slipper's slapping noisily against his feet. He grabbed the banister with shock at the sight of Zainab, fully dressed, gently replacing the telephone receiver onto it's cradle.

"Why up so early?" He queried in bemusement. "Are we doing something I've forgotten about?"

She held her finger to her lips and shushed him, he could just make out faint tear tracks on her cheeks.

"Sssh, You mustn't wake your Father.." She chided, with an urgency he found suspicious.

"Why? Who were you ringing? Is something wrong? It's not bad news?"

"No, hush. I reported your brother missing.."

Tamwar's eyebrow's raised in alarm.

"Kamil? I'll get Dad.."

"Syed.." She uttered his name slowly, relishing the fact that she could say it aloud.

"But that's great, I thought, I mean.."

He followed her into the kitchen and watched as she leant heavily against the worktop, staring, unseeing, out of the window, not registering the early morning sun.

"If what that Michael said is true, that he may be ill, or have lost his memory, I thought I could get him away from here, take him to Auntie Gita's in Scotland. Or I could get in touch with his therapist, see if he would try again. He seemed to be doing so well…"

Tamwar sighed in exasperated disbelief and scraped back a chair noisily.

"For goodness sake, that's what he wanted you to believe, wanted himself to believe. He tried really hard, Mum, it was killing him inside, it didn't work. Why don't you get it?"

Zainab's eyes narrowed with anger.

"Don't raise your voice to me Tamwar, I know what's best for my sons.."

"No Mum, honestly, you truly don't.."

"I won't hear another word!" She raised her hands to cover her ears. "He just needs to be away from bad influences."

"So you're going to kidnap him?"

"Care for him, make him choose a better path.." Her tears started again and she sniffed desolately.

"Mum.." Tamwar's oncoming tirade was halted by the sound of the telephone ringing.

* * *

"So it appears you are Mr. Syed Masood."

Syed smiled politely, the name had brought nothing back to him, but it seemed a perfectly fine thing to be called.

"Oh, right. Where do I live?"

"Walford, in East London."

Again, nothing.

"Who do I live with?"

He experienced a rush of excitement, bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

"Your parents, your Mother is coming to get you.."

The elation changed, he felt happiness mingled with surprise, fear and a sense of loss.

"Are you sure?"

The policewoman closed her notebook and handed him a card.

"Yes. Contact me on this number if you need any more assistance, or if you recall anything about the attack.."

He turned the card over in his hands, wondering if it were too late to call out that he had changed his mind, he didn't want to be claimed, he would wait until he remembered.

* * *

Christian lay motionless on top of the bed, his hands crossed lightly over his chest. Numb with misery, he appeared sepulchral, carved from a stone of grief.

He burst into life as the entry phone buzzed, tearing across the room, hoping beyond hope that it was Syed, having lost his keys, his phone, his temper, his marbles, anything as long as he came home.

"Michael. Come up."

Holding open the door, Christian accepted the kiss on the cheek, and commented;

"You're early."

"Desperate times. And I don't really sleep."

"Yeah, you said. Why is that? Coffee? It's only instant.."

"Yes please, black. Dunno, I might be a vampire."

Michael bared his teeth in a feeble attempt to make Christian laugh, worried by the grey pallor of his skin, the dark circles under his strained eyes.

Christian managed a small chuckle and handed him a mug.

"I bet it's not blood you're sucking. What's the plan?"

"I've brought my car. We could go through his addresses again, see if you have better luck face to face."

"Unlikely, but it's better than doing bugger all, I'm going mental, imagining all sorts. Drink your coffee, I'll get changed."

* * *

"What the fuck is that?"

Christian looked at Michael with his mouth open.

"It's my car!"

"Michael, it's a Fiat Panda. A lime green Fiat Panda…"

"Re-spray. It's ironic.."

"It would need to be. I thought we were Batman and Robin? We'll look more like Rosemary and Thyme in that thing…"

Michael fished his keys from the pocket of his leather jacket, and jangled them at Christian.

"Don't you mock my wheels. Anyway, I'm only a stand in Robin, 'til we get the real one back. I'm some other sort of bird super hero.."

"Tit?" Suggested Christian.

"I was thinking more along the lines of Eagle Boy or Buzzard.."

"Come on then, Thrush, lets see if this effort can go more than twenty miles an hour. Is the inside all pimped up? Chandeliers and leopard skin?…"

As Christian bent to lift the handle of the car door, he spotted a distant figure, scurrying furtively across the square.


	16. Chapter 16

With the feeling that something wasn't quite right niggling away at his brain, Syed looked forlornly at his hands, imagining soft dry palms closing around them, interweaving fingers, a silver ring with a dull sheen, felt it scrape gently across his back, gulped at the, almost real, sensation of it rubbing against his cock.

"Hello! Is everything sorted?" Matt, a look of worry on his moon face, woke him from his reverie. Syed smiled reassuringly.

"It's fine. I'm Syed Masood."

"Syeeed?"

"Slightly fewer e's, but that's the sort of thing…"

A rapid, fleeting vision of a tall blonde woman, a weaselly man. A silly girl, a sense of anger and alarm, the flash of a firework, shooting into the night sky.

"Is he coming? The one you've been waiting for?" Matt fiddled with a piece of tubing that hung from the metal end of the hospital trolley.

"My mother is coming."

Syed couldn't understand why this was somehow wrong, unexpected, frightening, and yet also gave him a faint glow of love and relief.

"Oh!" A sudden gut wrenching image of his own mother, plump and anxious, peeling potato's at the kitchen sink, suffused Matt, making him envious.

Spotting the small change in Matt's demeanour, Syed touched his arm gently.

"You should ring yours. I'm sure she'd be pleased to hear from you.."

"We'll see. Do you have to stay in, need any more treatment?"

Syed slid from the trolley and gazed about the quiet department, the only other occupants an elderly man snoring loudly, and a boy with his arm newly plastered, asking his dad if he could have a puppy for being so brave.

"They mentioned Psychotherapy, if my memory doesn't come back, and I've got sedatives. Just got to wait until my mum gets here. Hope I recognise her.." He grinned ruefully.

"There's a café, by main reception. We could wait there, get a drink. She'll be able to see you as she comes in."

"I'd like that. And Matt, when I'm better, you must let us take you out, repay your kindness. That's if there is an us…"

It occurred to him, agonizingly, that there was a possibility his reality may only consist of the horror, that the warm cocoon of safety he had been relying on, might only exist in his head. Could be a delicious fantasy that his psyche had concocted to protect him. Weighed down by the grief that the notion had brought him, he looked at the double doors, leading out into his unknown life, trying to find some strength.

"Lead the way…"

* * *

"What's she up to?"

Christian watched as Zainab glanced furtively about her, and began to root around in her handbag, feeling a mix of hatred and despair churn unpleasantly inside him, mixed with the laughable ridiculousness of the situation, that someone they both loved was in trouble and they still couldn't combine forces. He went to call out her name, but stopped at the sight of Tamwar, haring towards them. His slippers splayed dangerously as he approached, almost tripping him up when he skidded abruptly to a halt.

"Mum's gone mad. Again. The police rang. Syed's in hospital, she's going to take him to Scotland…"

Tamwar gasped and leant against the car, trying to catch his breath.

"What? Hospital? Why, where? Why didn't the police ring me? He won't go with her, will he? Is he hurt? Oh my God…."

"He's lost his memory, she thinks he can be 'un gayed'…"

Michael recoiled in alarm as Christian gave one of the car's tyres a hefty kick.

"She still doesn't fucking get it, does she?"

Michael decided now wasn't the best time to ask Christian to stop taking out his frustration on the car, and was aware of two anxious faces turned towards him. With a sinking heart, he knew he was expected to be the calm, strong, decisive one, when all he could think of to say was 'nice jim jams, Tamwar.'

"Nice jim jams Tamwar.." He said, causing him to look down in alarm and cross his arms tightly over his body.

Michael felt suitably withered by their bemused expressions, and offered;

"Which hospital is he in?"

"I don't know, she wouldn't tell me…"

Christian groaned and clutched his head dramatically.

"…But she wrote the postcode down for the Satnav. It's W12 0HS."

"Hammersmith.. Time to fire up the Panda!"

Michael slid into the drivers seat and started the engine. Christian quickly joined beside him, pausing to call to Tamwar.

"Quick, get in if you're coming…"

"Can't. Dad will go spare when he finds out what she's doing…" He sighed. "..So I suppose it's down to me to stall him, lying again, oh joy. Plus, as you've noticed, I'm hardly dressed for…"

The doors slammed, and the car raced away, tilting dangerously as it took the corner at speed, leaving Tamwar to yell forlornly in it's wake;

"Ring me when you've got him!"


	17. Chapter 17

Zainab watched the three figures through the windscreen. Her dear boy, dressed in the pyjama's she had bought for him from Marks and Spencer's. So defiant and bold and befuddled, soon to belong to another woman. The two tall men that stood around him. Michael, mischievous, charming Michael. Syed's dear friend with the twinkle in his eye and the dimple in his cheek. She could see the pair of them clearly, it seemed like only yesterday, two dark heads bent together at her kitchen table, poring over their homework, school ties carelessly un-knotted. Their easy camaraderie, the way he had always cheekily referred to her as 'Mrs Syed's mum.' And she remembered the way Syed's eyes would light up when Michael called round, and wished she didn't.

And the other one, the one whose name she hated to say. The broad shoulders, the easy grace, a fine handsome man, the man that had taken her eldest away from her. In an unbidden memory that shocked her, she saw his stricken face, on a day that should have been her ultimate dream, saw his strength crumble, without wanting to, she saw an unbearable depth of love.

Fiercely, she wiped away the notion, along with the tear that was sliding down her face, froze her heart, and put the car into gear.

* * *

Sunlight glared brightly at them as they turned up into the High Street, and both Christian and Michael fetched out Ray Ban's from the pockets of their leather jackets.

"Shameful!" Laughed Michael, fumbling across Christian's lap to the glove compartment and pulling out a pouch of tobacco.

"Look where you're going!" Christian shouted, his anxiety at fever pitch. "And don't smoke in here…"

Raising an eyebrow patiently, Michael pointed out;

"My car, my rules."

"Open the windows then. Oh, give it here, let me do it…" Christian snatched the papers from him and deftly rolled a cigarette, then another.

"Help yourself, why don't you. I didn't think you smoked.."

Christian pulled the lighter from the dashboard and lit Michael's for him, pushing it into his mouth.

"I don't, not for years. Fuck, I want one now. Syed will kill me. Oh shit…" He took one drag and hurled it out of the window, narrowly missing the face of the cyclist beside them at the traffic lights.

"Are these bollocking things stuck? Do you know where we're going? Why haven't you got a Satnav? Everyone's got a Satnav, even Zainab's got a Satnav….."

Michael put his foot on the accelerator, roaring over the Pelican crossing as the lights finally changed.

"I don't need some disembodied woman telling me to turn right at the next junction, thank you very much, I'm a city boy, man about town. I knew which hospital it was, didn't I?"

"Fair enough, smart arse. You can get Tom Baker doing the voice now, or Yoda. Yoda winds Sy up….Why didn't the police ring me?"

As if on cue, his mobile buzzed, two words on the screen reading; 'number withheld.'

"Christian Clarke…Yes, I know, I'm on my way….Let's just hope it's not too late, eh?"

He snapped the phone shut, squeezing it with frustration.

"You could have said thank you…"

"For what? That shitty desk sergeant probably left my enquiry for someone else to file, but bloody Zainab rings and she gets told where he is straight away. What if he never remembers me, Michael?"

Michael heard the break in his voice and felt filled with sadness.

"He will. He only has to see you, no one would forget you."

"Stop flirting, she'll get to him first, poison his mind…AMBER! AMBER! PUT YOUR FOOT DOWN!"

"We'll be no use to him if we're both dead. She never managed it before, though, did she? And I bet she tried her damnedest, I always rather admired her fortitude…Oh, and I can't stop flirting, it's like breathing to me.."

Christian stretched the strap of the seatbelt to try and stop it cutting into his chest. He felt squashed, his muscles screaming with tension, head pounding with the unthinkable notion that they might be too late, that he may never see Syed again.

"Fucking great, I'm in a car with a compulsive flirter and leading member of the Zainab Masood fan club, so help me…."

"Not me, I'm team Chryed all the way, so calm down and let me drive…"

Michael patted Christian's thigh.

"…If she does get there before us, which I doubt, as I am channelling Lewis Hamilton, you'll find him. Everyone will help you, we can start an internet campaign, Twitter, the media, News at Ten….I'm getting carried away, aren't I?"

Christian held up his thumb and forefinger, gesturing with a tiny gap between them

"A little bit. OH BOLLOCKS! Another sodding, shitting red light…" He banged his head with frustration on the dashboard.

"Mr. Clarke, your language is atrocious, you wouldn't catch me fucking swearing. Look, we're nearly at the Westway!"


	18. Chapter 18

"I've told them at reception that we're in here, for when your mum comes.."

Matt pulled out a chair and settled himself opposite Syed.

"….I bet you're excited.." The words died on his tongue as he studied Syed's drawn face, he looked battered, defeated and terrified.

"I don't know what I feel Matt, I've gone from having a mass of sensations to nothing, just blankness."

"That might be the sedative they gave you."

"Could be.." Syed fiddled nervously with the corner of the plastic flower in the centre of their table, his eyes darting nervously towards the glass sliding doors of the main entrance, their constant whoosh, as they opened and closed, matching the beat of his pulse.

"Here.."

He distracted himself for long enough to push a paper serviette towards Matt. "…Write down your number, looks like it will be only me taking you out, rather than the mythical, fanciful us, but hey."

"You don't know that for sure." Matt dutifully wrote down his mobile number, finding it hard to stand the palpable air of resigned disappointment that had fallen on his new friend.

"I hope I'm wrong. Truly, I do. Anyway, enough of me, you must be sick of my troubles. I hate to think of you all alone in your bedsit."

Matt bridled slightly, suddenly defensive.

"I've got Deirdre."

"Of course, but her conversation's a bit limited. On the Internet, there are forums, faith groups for gay people. I think I'm a member of a Muslim one.."

'Perhaps that's what I do.' Mused Syed, mutilating the plastic flower a little more, "only able to be my true self online. What if I'm not even out? What if my mother doesn't know? What if I have to creep around, hiding, terrified of my dreadful secret being discovered?" He snapped the stem of the flower in half, a cold chill spreading through his veins.

Matt thought for a moment, staring up at the café's blackboard, spelling out the letters of 'cappuccino' silently in his head.

"You're right. And there are people here, in the hospital." He flushed slightly. "Who want to be friends…"

"Then take them up on the offer, get out there, live your life!"

Syed cringed at the irony of his rallying tone.

'And how will I live mine, what is Syed Masood's life like?'

* * *

Zainab had watched the small green car speed away, it's occupants bickering and waving their arms about, disturbingly, even Michael, who was driving. She had seen her son scurry back to the house, looking about him apprehensively, preparing to be mortified, should anyone spot him out in the square in his pyjamas.

She had been holding onto the steering wheel for so long, her arms were stiff, the muscles rigid and aching, her palms red and indented from the savage grip. She prised them away, wincing, and picked up her handbag from the passenger seat, slowly turning off the engine and opening the door.

Tamwar was pacing up and down the hall, clutching his mobile phone. As the front door opened with a rattle, he jumped with guilt, gawping at Zainab and squeaking; "Mum!" in alarm.

"Get dressed Tamwar. Go over to the restaurant and make a start on cleaning those ovens."

"But…"

"Do as you're told."

With a heavy tread she climbed the stairs to Kamil's room. He snuffled in his sleep, briefly opening his eyes to meet hers. She scooped him up from his cot, holding him tight against her body, inhaling the sweet baby smell of his soft skin, soaking his dark hair with silent tears.

"Zee! Is that you? What are you doing up? Come back to bed!" Her husband's voice rang through the thin walls, chiding her, and she placed Kamil softly back down and dragged her hand across her face.

"Coming Mas…"

* * *

"You look so sad.." Matt shifted in his seat, full of concern.

"Do I? I'm a bit scared, I think… Don't worry Matt, I'm sure it will all be fine.."

'Liar.' He told himself. 'I seem to be good at lying..'

"I'll get us a drink. What would you like?"

"Not a clue. What are you having?"

"I quite fancy a Macchiato, but it might give me palpitations. They do a very nice Hot Chocolate…"

Syed stopped drooping listlessly over the table and straightened up.

"A what?" He asked.

"That's a funny thing to have forgotten, Hot Chocolate.."

In Syed's mind it was dark, he could hear the chatter of a market, music, an old song. The day had been lovely, full of laughter, and someone's shoulder bumped companionably against his own.

"The nearness of you.." He breathed.

And their were words, unspoken, a face of utter sadness. He had to say the words, make it better, even if he lived to regret them, at that moment, the truth had to be told.

Matt's voice sounded far away, a distant tinny bleat penetrating through the blood that rushed in his ears.

" You can have squirty cream on top.. Syed, are you okay?"

Syed was transformed. He glowed with the inner light of his realisation, a smile so broad and dazzling, it made Matt feel faint.

Leaping up, Syed grabbed Matt and kissed him on the forehead, quietly uttering a name, as if it were the final answer, as if it encapsulated his whole world;

"Christian."


	19. Chapter 19

" Mr. Masood!" The policewoman reached out to the blur that was Syed, as he pelted past. "Your partner also reported… Ah,guess you remembered.."

The bright sun glared into his face, making him sway slightly, disoriented. Matt puffed up behind him, gasping and unfit.

"What did you mean? Christian?" He wheezed, trying to catch his breath.

Across the car park, in a space reserved for an eminent consultant, someone was unfurling from a small green car, his physicality springing upwards as he escaped from the cramped confines. Syed pointed, laughing with delight.

"Christian."

Matt gulped with appreciation, and then spotted the man emerging from the drivers seat, almost as tall, almost as handsome.

"Who's he?"

"Who? Oh, It's Michael, our friend.."

"Blimey.." Matt thought he had strayed into a shoot for GQ, and felt a little twinge of inadequacy, dispelled when Syed hugged him, and said;

"I can never, ever, thank you enough Matt. You're a star."

Christian was looking wildly about him, shouting at Michael who had raised his hands in an attempt to calm him down, touching his shoulder and turning him around slowly to face Syed.

"I suppose this is where you run in slow motion to meet him…" He giggled, but Christian didn't hear him. He couldn't hear anything, see anything, bar the slight figure waiting patiently a few yards away, hair blowing in the morning breeze, hands in his pockets, smiling.

"Oh my beautiful boy…"

He walked slowly towards him, eyes never losing contact, and stopped inches away, bending to press his forehead against Syed's.

"My love…"

"Did you miss me?"

Syed had placed his mouth close to Christian's and mumbled the words against his skin. Arms reached around him, pulling him close and he melted into the embrace, hungrily returning the kisses rained upon him.

The irate tooting of a car horn, and an angry voice, swearing in a cut glass accent, brought them back to the surface. Christian smoothed the hair away from Syed's face and grinned.

"Never noticed you'd gone. Miss you? I nearly died of grief.. Oh look at poor you, all bruised…"

"Want to kiss it better?"

"Too damn right I do… What happened to you? I was so worried, I thought you'd left me, then, worse, I thought you were dead…" Christian began to cry.

"Ssh, baby, don't. I'm sorry, I forgot the time, in fact, I forgot everything, and I'm sorry I didn't believe you about the text. Ooh, I brought you a present.."

Trying to fiddle inside his jacket, without once letting hold of Christian, proved tricky, but Syed eventually managed to extricate the moisturiser, holding the battered packaging aloft triumphantly.

"Ta da!"

Christian's sobs increased, and Syed gently held his head against his shoulder, stroking the back of his head, curling his fingers against the soft bristle of his hair.

"Oh darling, stop it, It's okay now, I'm here. And I think Michael might need rescuing…"

Christian hiccupped and sniffled, managing to drag his gaze away from Syed to see Michael being harangued by a distinguished man in a suit.

"Don't worry about him, he'll get a date out of it…"

And true enough, the once livid consultant, was now beaming and handing over a business card.

"Come on, Let me go and thank him for looking after you, not too well I hope…"

Syed weaved his fingers through Christian's, beckoning behind him to Matt, still gawping like a goldfish in shock, to follow.

Syed still gripped onto Christian's hand as Michael enveloped him in an embrace.

"State of the pair of you. Have all the razors broken?"

Michael rubbed his stubble.

"We've been too busy worrying about you, cheeky. Anyway.."

He flicked the card.

"…Mr. Gerard Tompkins-Whittaker, 'call me Gerry, dear boy' has given us ten minutes in his parking space…"

Frowning, Syed scanned about him, saying in a quiet, sad voice;

"But Mum…"

Pulling him close again, Christian met Michael's concerned look.

"Sy, she was going to take you away from me, take you back to that looney therapist.."

Syed became rigid with fear, trembling he protested;

"I'm never going there again. I wouldn't have gone, I thought…"

"I know, I know. But she did ring the police, was worried, so small steps maybe?"

"Small steps…" Syed echoed the words, dismissing the frail hope, storing it away in a compartment of his heart. "We can't just let her turn up, find me gone.."

"Can't we?"

Matt piped up from behind Christian;

"I could let her know, my shift starts in a couple of hours, I don't mind hanging about.."

"Would you? You've done so much.. Christian, this is Matt. He looked after me, gave me a place to sleep, stopped me from roaming the streets on my own."

Wincing as he was clutched in the strongest bear hug he had ever experienced, Matt feared he might die from crush injuries, then decided he didn't care, because at least he'd die happy. His demise came even nearer as Michael joined in, kissing him full on the lips.

Red and flustered, he managed to burble;

"It's my pleasure…" Making his way back into the hospital grinning from ear to ear.

They watched as he retreated.

"Aww. I don't suppose you could take him out, Michael?" Syed suggested hopefully.

Both Christian and Michael began to roar with laughter.

"Syed darling, He's a lovely man, with a beautiful soul, but you've forgotten that I am stupendously silly and shallow." Michael opened the door to the back seat.

"Your loss.." Syed grumpily clambered in. "Is this car meant to be ironic?"

Michael stuck his tongue out at Christian.

"SEE! He gets it."

"Because I was going to say, if it is, it's an epic fail.."

"Oh fuck it, I'm trading it in for a Ferrari."


	20. Chapter 20

**_One more after this one :) xxxx_**

* * *

Michael watched them in his rear view mirror. Syed, his eyelids drooping with tiredness, resting his head on Christian's shoulder, Christian, his arm protectively around him, constantly checking to make sure he was okay.

Syed opened his mouth in a wide yawn.

"Sorry, they gave me sleepy drugs… Need to ring Tambo…"

Christian pressed the number for him, and held his phone up to Syed's ear.

"Tam, It's Syed. Christian came and got me. I got mugged and hit my head, lost my memory, but I'm fine now…"

"OW!"

Syed looked quizzically at the mobile.

"What's up Tam? You sound funny."

On the other end of the line, Tamwar emerged from the cooker and put down his scourer, rubbing his head.

"Had my head in the oven.."

"Surely things aren't that bad!"

"Ha ha, very funny. She's got me cleaning them. My punishment for letting Christian know what she was up to."

"Thank you, he told me what she was planning."

"I couldn't let her take you to Auntie Gita's, that's a fate worse than death."

"What time did she set off?"

"Now there's a funny thing. I don't think she ever left, just came back home and went upstairs. It's terrifying when she's quiet."

"If she gives you a hard time, come round to ours. And tell her…"

Syed regarded Christian with sleepy love, wanting to smooth away the residual greyness of worry from his face.

"…tell her, I'm back where I belong."

"I'd sooner not tell her anything, and just hide, if it's all the same to you. Syed.."

"What?"

"I'm glad he found you…"

The line went dead.

* * *

Michael revved the engine as they roared into the square.

"You need a clown's horn.." Christian suggested, and Syed added;

"And a 'Honk If You're Horny' sticker…."

"Fuck off the pair of you, ungrateful bastards."

He parked up outside the chip shop, helping Christian ease Syed, like a delicate cargo, from the back seat.

Syed hugged him tight, under the watchful eye of Christian, and Michael tried not to get excited.

"We thank you from the bottom of our hearts.."

"And the heart of our bottoms. Coming up?" Christian asked, unlocking the door to the flat.

"Do I get to join in?"

Michael winked and gave a wicked grin, laughing as they chorused 'No!' in outraged unison.

"Well then, I've got to be at the airport…" He checked his watch. "..In about an hour, so I'll love you and leave you."

"Aw, mate, you never said.." Christian slapped him on the back. ".. Where are you going?"

"New York. I would have cancelled it, If Syed hadn't come back. But, now he's here, I can go off and earn pots of money and submerge myself in hedonism."

"You're fabulous Michael. Did we say?"

Michael climbed back into the car, regarding them fondly as they stood on the pavement, side by side, each providing a support for the other, his soul gladdened that he had played some small part in reuniting two people, so obviously destined to be together.

"Not enough, and it's debatable." He started the engine and waved through the open window. "I'll send you a postcard of the Empire State Building, which, I think you'll find, is my cock…"

* * *

"Do you need me to carry you upstairs?"

Syed smiled broadly and lifted his arms.

"I don't need you to, but I might like it if you did.."

Christian scooped him up and carried him giggling into the flat, throwing him onto the bed.

"Aaah, bed. Our bed, our lovely, lovely kingsize bed."

Sniffing at himself, Syed shrugged off his jacket and threw it across the room.

"That'll need cleaning. Poo, and these. Poor Matt, he tried to clean them up for me, but they dried funny.."

"Give them here.." Christian took the clothes from him, and handed over his dressing gown.

Wrapping it tightly around himself, Syed looked at Christian accusingly.

"Have you been wearing this? It's gone stretchy.."

"It smelt of you…"

"You big soppy fool." Syed yawned again and lay his head onto the pillows, he felt peace creep through his bones, his muscles loose and relaxed, for what seemed like the first time in decades.

"Shit, Debit card.." He mumbled, fighting the wave of exhaustion that flowed over him.

"They'll have cleared it out, I expect. I'll cancel it now."

"Lucky I hadn't paid that massage money in, they must have been horribly disappointed…"

"Forgive me for not feeling sorry for them Sy. Syed?"

Christian heard Syed's breathing slow, saw a serene calm spread over his features and felt his heart swell with love.


	21. Chapter 21

**_Just thank you, so very much, for reading and reviewing. I think you're fabulous! :) xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_**

* * *

The outside world began to filter into Syed's mind as it climbed from the depth of untroubled sleep. He heard the sound of a tube train clattering over the bridge, and imagined Matt's round face, looming at him, an expression of bemused unease, heard a distant car horn out in the square and smiled briefly, seeing Michael's handsome grin, the scar he had caused still etched above his lip. He smelt the scent of familiar sheets, felt the weight of a body move beside him, sensed warm breath on his cheek.

He opened one eye.

"Are you staring at me, Christian?"

"Might be."

He opened the other, bringing Christian's face into focus.

"Are you doing that creepy thing where you have to check I'm still breathing?"

"Definitely."

Syed untangled his arm from under the duvet and ran his finger along the line of Christian's jaw.

"You could have spent the time better having a shave…"

Christian shifted, stroking back a lock of hair from Syed's forehead, running his thumb softly over the livid bruise.

"I'll have one now.."

"No, you know I like it, when you're stubbly. And I want you where I can see you…"

"I'm not going anywhere…" Christian frowned slightly and cleared his throat.

"What?" Syed asked.

"I was thinking.."

"Go on…"

"Did you forget me completely?"

Looking away, Christian tried to hide the pain that the thought had caused him, knowing it would show in his eyes.

"Your name, what you looked like, but not the essence of you. There was so much fear, Christian, jumbled memories of anger and panic and guilt. Strange people popping into my consciousness, hurting me, and me hurting them in return. Weird triggers, smells. The alcohol on my clothes, the hospital smell, reminded me, of when, when I tried to…"

"Hush, hush. I can't bear that you felt so desperate, went through that alone…"

"It was my choice, Christian. I know now, that you would have come if I'd called, did come. I thought I had to punish everyone, especially me, because of the damage my lies had caused. Yet I kept lying, stacking them up into a huge pile, until the sight of you, the thought of you, brought it all crashing down around my ears, and I could step through them, stop running away. And that's what I remembered, a strength. It was my talisman. I couldn't see you, had no concrete proof you really existed, but I knew you were there, just out of sight, around a corner, keeping me safe… Don't start crying again, aw Christian.."

Syed licked away the tear that had rolled down Christian's cheek.

"And then when I was told my Mum was coming to get me, I didn't understand, I was petrified that I had made you up, that I wasn't protected, that I couldn't be free, honest.. I thought I told you to stop that.."

Christian sniffed and pathetically wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

"I should have stopped you, when you stormed out…"

Syed laughed.

"How could you? You never managed before, and goodness knows I'd had a lot of practise, all those hurtful things I've said…" He blinked at the memory, wishing he could unsay them.

"They don't matter now, all wiped out by the beautiful ones that have followed. I was a knob, just went out and got pissed and moany. And then, when I woke up, still half cut with my boots on, and you weren't here. I thought the world had ended Sy, I couldn't bear it.."

"Please, please, don't keep getting upset…"

"And if Zainab had followed out her plan, managed to get you away.."

Syed laid a finger on Christian's mouth, stopping him.

"Then you would have found me. And I would have fallen in love with you all over again, eternal sunshine of the spotless mind."

"What made you remember?"

Pursing his lips slightly, Syed wriggled under the bedclothes.

"Do I have to say?"

"Why, is it shameful? I was hoping it was a line from a song on the radio, or a delicious smell, ooh, or the sight of something massive and phallic…"

"Haaa! You wish. Actually, this sounds crap, but Matt started talking about hot chocolate…"

"Squirty cream! I knew it…"

"Stop it Christian. And I was there, with you, in the market, and we'd had that brilliant day, I'd never laughed that much before, felt so at ease with someone, felt so completely myself. I finally had to be honest with you…"

Christian raised his eyebrows contritely.

"Once I'd bullied you a bit."

"It didn't stop it being the truth. I love you Christian."

"I love you too.." Christian moved to kiss him, but Syed held him back with a firm hand against his chest.

"There's one slight problem.." He opened his eyes, wide with innocence.

"What?"

"I haven't quite remembered how to make love…" A guileless smile that twitched slightly at the corner.

"Does that mean I have to teach you?"

"Mmm.."

"Well first you have to help me get my clothes off…"

Syed pulled the shirt over Christian's head, then unzipped his jeans for him, helping him push them down until they dropped onto the floor.

"Done that, now what?"

"We get rid of this…" Christian pulled back the duvet cover, mouth watering as Syed's naked body was revealed.

"..And then I kiss you."

"Where?"

"Here.." Christian kissed him slowly, relishing the familiar taste of him.

" And here.."

He traced his tongue down Syed's neck,

"And here…"

Across his chest.

"And here…"

Along the trail of hair that led to his cock.

"And is it meant to have got that big? I see yours has too.." Syed asked politely, trying not to laugh and spoil the game.

Christian glanced up at him and grinned.

"They often do.."

"Oh, I see. You put it in your mouth. That's very pleasant, very pleasant indeed, thank you, most enjoyable, don't stop. Ah! And now, you're putting something wet on yours, and my legs go where? Up there? And that slips in there does it? Right in there…Oh fuck, fuck, Christian…"

"Is it all coming back to you now?"

"Yes, yes, oh fuck, yes, something is certainly going to be coming…"


End file.
